


Echo

by winterwhite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cat, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Various idk, other tags and warnings internal on relevant chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 48,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8166040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwhite/pseuds/winterwhite
Summary: A collection of prompt responses. Most not related to Elemental Forces, just kind of rolled with the prompt.





	1. Echo

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: canon-era McCree finds some Blackwatch memorabilia at a watchpoint and starts thinking about Reyes?
> 
> Relates very, very strongly to Elemental Forces, but can be read without.

His feet crunch dirt clods studded with tiny spikes of frost as he approaches the remains of the base. A wooden door hangs open. He kicks it out of the way and steps into calm, dust, and rays of light. The base took a hit. Jesse glances around one more time. He can see copper meshwork in the walls that doesn't look like anything he's ever seen when he's peeled panels back, looks like it's meant to power some kind of tracking system, but it was put in place before the firepower got dropped.

He's standing in the Overwatch half of the base, still, but to the right people that doesn't matter. "Dead or alive" wasn't just tagged after his name. A lot of Blackwatch is still kicking around the corners of the globe, trailing death wishes and bounties like banners of war. He hopes whoever was here got in and out before the missiles landed. It could have been a rat setting off the motion detectors. Whatever.

He drops the little detector on the floor. Everything around him is completely dead, like he's standing in the carapace of a giant beetle. He shoots the latch of the trapdoor open. It clunks with a spray of rust. There's no explosions, no color flags of a chemical leak, no beep to show an electrical system gone online. Dead as dust. Like Morrison. Like -

He scoops up the little box and drops it in his pocket, dropping through the trapdoor like a shadow. His serape still holds the heat of the sun through the glass of the car window, and he tugs it a little more sharply around his neck.

Home.

Fuck.

He's been here on and off for years. He trained here. He trained others here. That's the corner where he leaned and smoked and talked to Cori while he did dishes. That's the crack in the doorframe Reyes left on that night he'd been drinking and Jesse had to drag his drunken too-strong ass to his room. There's-

He stands quietly, swearing. Then he walks. He's not dead, and in the calm and cold, he breathes. He moves.

Reyes' door is sealed. He places the charges and breaches it with a quick _Sorry, boss_. Even when the smoke is settling and his serape is over his face, he reaches up a hand and double-taps the door controls. Knock, knock. You don't enter Reyes' office without his permission.

Reyes cleared it well. _He knew he wasn't coming back_ Jesse thinks. _Son of_ but it hurts too much and he lets it go. There's nothing on the cot in the corner. The bathroom's cleared of anything personal at all, not a razor, not even one of the little adapters that Reyes littered through the bases because _I should not need my technicians to fucking jury-rig something every time I want to trim my goddamn beard._

He steps into the hall for a minute. It never gets easier. He left, he saw Reyes could never change, could never bend, could never make a partnership with him. But he knows Reyes as well or better than anyone on Earth. What could have been-

He bangs a fist on the door control Reyes can never answer and heads for the desk.

There's a lock, but he knows exactly where the weak point is because Reyes taught him how to install the lock, and the little security charge to destroy everything inside. He pulls the trigger to punch out the trigger cords and the lock together and yanks the drawer open.

A cigar rattles. That's it. The next drawer is bigger.

A flask, a little light, a knife sharpener, a few bottles of gun oil, and a thick paper packet. He pulls it out and spreads it over the desk. Something spins out and drops to the floor. He puts a foot on it before it can roll under the desk. It's a... it's a metal... medal... ish. Fuck, he doesn't know. It's got a bullet hole in the middle-

Oh.

_Oh._

The enemy sniper had dropped him, had killed Kelly and Slany without pause, and had been fucking gloating with his last shot lined up. Reyes had been caught dead in the open with the scanning equipment still hanging on its straps on his shoulders, trapped under weight. The sniper had just been ducking his head down, confident that the shot would need some skill but confident he'd have a bullet hole right between the eyes of Blackwatch's Strike Commander, when Jesse had interrupted with one shot right through the fucking glinting patch on his chest. Asshole grandstander. He can remember the swiftness that Reyes had used breaking out of the straps in case there was a spotter snatching up the rifle, crossing to him, dragging him off the road and under cover, stopping the bleeding. He can remember the calm set of his face, belying the quickness of his hands and the firmness of his hands on the bandage.

Reyes had just got up and walked away when help had come. He'd looked after his back through floating white specks as the medics clustered around him. And when McCree woke up in the base, looking up at the plaster ceiling, he'd had a medal pinned on his chest. Some kind of fancy gold-plated sniper shit, he didn't know, because he'd put a bullet right through the center. Reyes had obviously had someone put a new pin on it, because the broken one got him in the finger when he went to unsnap it. It was the only sniper badge Reyes had ever awarded him. _Because you aren't supposed to be trying to outsnipe scopes with that fucking pistol, McCree, keep your head straight._  

He'd left it on Reyes' desk with the others when he left.

 _This was yours,_ he thinks, touching thumb and little finger through the hole in the middle. _This was all yours. It was all I had that you might have wanted._

He stands for a long moment with the medal in his fist. But he drops it in the drawer. There's no grave for Reyes, no place to leave it but the monuments of Blackwatch's pride and the remnants that Reyes left behind on his way to infamy, like scattered pieces of a great and terrible shell.

He's on his way back before he thinks to look at the papers. They're useless, not even related to anything classified now, and he holds them out the window and lets them stream into the desert like empty leaves.

**

The darkness is cloying. He steps into it, hating the moment when it closes behind him (he can feel it, an ease, a sort of bubbling like he's got carbonated soda running over his skin.) It's been years, and the damn mist shit has only gotten-

He swallows. _Keep your head straight._

He knows the place like the back of his hand, even now. Goes without pause to Reyes' old office and breaches the door without fanfare. The flash ruins his night vision, so he flicks his light on. It's the same story as last time: bits and pieces, nothing concrete, nothing even hinting of the personality of the man who slept here, planned here, called orders and dragged the nearby countries to safer courses. Chair cushion chewed to shreds, mouse urine on the desk, empty drawers.

Reyes' lighter is under the desk. It's the nice one, the present he got from Mr. Amari before Mr. Amari went missing. (Jesse knows Pharah still goes looking from time to time, because everyone else has gotten a loved one or two back, is her dad really too little, too much, to ask?)  

The papers aren't here. It's another fucking dead end. He blinks. Puts the light on another angle. 

Fuck.

There's a trail in the dust here. Fine marks. Something was scooped out of a drawer. Fuck!

He turns and walks back. Stands with the light on and flicks it down the hallway. There's bootprints in the dust. He puts his boot down by one. Sombra's got smaller feet. This one's a little larger. There's only two people he can think of that can get through even an ancient security system belonging to a strike commander. One's Sombra. The other is... a strike commander. He crouches down. It wasn't recent. It might have been Reaper. Maybe Morrison. But he thinks Morrison would have mentioned if he wanted something from Blackwatch's remains.

Gabriel's keeping secrets again? He is, too, memories of moments in the darkness, a voice grating into his ears from a hard surface over his shoulder.

He pulls out his datapad.  

_J*: I'm coming home._

_G*: Everything's waiting._

He stands for a long moment, thinking. He should probably ask.

_G*: Te amo._

He drops the datapad in his pocket. Whatever it was, Gabriel can have a secret or two, too. He knows. He'll keep an eye on it. 


	2. Artifacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I LOST THE PROMPT
> 
> General gist of it: requesting consensual edgelord interaction between Hanzo and Reaper.

Reaper is here to assess the skills of a candidate in infiltration. His assessment: he could teach them something but he damn well doesn't want to. He glances at the other... professional... called in to assess. He is slouching royally in shadow, his... is that a scarf? A ribbon? flickering in the air.  
  
It has been thirty seconds since Reaper stepped in the door, and he is sorry he came. Talon is wasting his time. The agent they are sending is mid-tier. He turns and walks toward the door.  
  
"The money does not interest you?" The promptness of the question tells him that the man in shadow is just as bored with what he sees, and is accepting any diversion. The voice is familiar, although it sounds intentionally flat and bland.  
  
"Is it worth this?" He jerks his chin towards the practice grounds. The man glances too. Sneers. Gets up and walks with him. Reaper is amazed. But it makes sense when the light hits the man's face. It's been years since he's seen so much as a picture, (Shimada was still fond of that heavy scarf around his face their last encounters, and Reaper is respectful of masks) and some of the man's hair has gone elegantly gray. Reaper gets on his datapad and flicks the advance payment back disdainfully. Shimada does not. He is not sure if there was one, or if Shimada simply considers it defaulted by their choice of candidate.  
  
Hanzo does not lead the way, so he does not have any place in mind. Reaper does have a little saferoom here, but he's _not_ inclined to lead Hanzo there. They have an understanding, and although they might play at hints of sentimentality, they both know who they are. There is an art gallery next door. It is closed and locked. Reaper is surprised that Shimada follows him, but he disarms the security system with Hanzo standing by patiently and shatters the window. Steps in, and starts looking around. Oh, look. Cultural exhibits with artifacts relating to the Day of the Dead.  
  
"Ghoulish," Hanzo says. Reaper opens his mouth to talk about celebrating the dead. Oh, right. Shimada. He closes his mouth.

They first met in Honamura, where Hanzo needed any distraction after some strange event that left him shaken. Reaper had obliged; he'd been in need of something grounding, himself. They'd met again in Beijing, fighting over the same target. (Reaper had forced Shimada back with his shotguns and dropped the target's decapitated body off a skyscraper.) They'd met in Nepal, and a fee had gone Shimada's way.   
  
"You're following me," he says, leaning up to study masks on the wall, surrounded by dried flowers.  
  
"I have a proposition," says Shimada.  
  
"Really." He snaps the withered stick of a rose stem and turns, flowing up to Shimada and tucking the dead flower behind his ear. "Out with it. I have already decided to accept."  
  
"Not that kind," Shimada says, although this close, Reaper can see his pupils dilate. "Business."  
  
Business has been good for him; there's the normal number of eyes, he has lips, and there's almost no drifting haze around him. So Reaper pulls the mask off. "Go on."  
  
"I have invested in trade," Hanzo says blandly. "Shipping. Pirates seem to like to cluster around my boats."  
  
Bo _ring_. "You want me to swat flies for you?" He reaches up. Touches the point of one claw under Shimada's chin. The archer hates their height difference, he knows from Nepal. Smug bastard had let Reaper chase him down.  
  
Out of deference to his success, Reaper had waited until he'd claimed the bounty to close the last few steps.  
  
"No," says Shimada. "I know who funded their boats and sent them after me. I want you to help me crush them, collect the survivors, shake them into usefulness, and turn them on their wielder."  
  
Reaper turns his finger to the side, lifts Shimada's chin. It's too early to kiss him. Hanzo has not moved away or resisted, so he will. "And what do I get out of it?"  
  
"Oh," Hanzo says, coolness cracking for the first time, "I can make it worth your while. And death enough for you, I'm sure."  
  
"You know how hard it is to sate me."  
  
Hanzo smirks. "Somehow, you have forgotten about me." He lunges up, wrapping one arm around the back of Reaper's neck, grabbing the side of his hood in a fist, tapping an arrowhead against Reaper's jawline. Reaper takes a quick two steps to keep his balance. Shimada's knees lock on his hips. "I've no respect for a careless memory."  
  
"I can spend two months on your little venture," he says. Shimada's face is right there, so he hooks an arm around his back (he leaves his spiked arm hanging, no sense in bringing a threat into it) and kisses him. Shimada keeps it light, which suits him. "Unless it bores me."  
  
"If we crush my rival too early, there's more to do in the region," Hanzo says, eyes shining.  
  
"There had better be," Reaper says simply. This time, Hanzo kisses him voraciously. Reaper returns it. Turns to one side, where an ornately carved coffin stands high on display. He puts Hanzo on the lid and drops to his knees. Hanzo's fingers run over the short-cut hair on the sides of his head. Surprisingly sentimental, and Reaper glances up. He catches the dried rose as it falls, puts it behind Hanzo's ear again. "You'd better give me something worth my time."  
  
Hanzo's smile is cutting. "By now, I know you. I would never drag you in unless the struggle would be good."  
  
"You know me," Reaper agrees, and loosens Hanzo's sash with a flick of his wrist. "Hands on the lid."  
  
"Make me," Hanzo purrs.  
  
"As you wish," Reaper agrees.


	3. Kintsugi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going off Old Soldiers, Reaper's never came to terms with his disfigurement or what he's become, whereas Genji's managed to make peace with losing most of his body and having what's left of it permanently scarred. Through whatever means A!anon thinks of, I'd kind of like something with Reaper and Genji bonding over mutual disfigurement/disability. 
> 
> Can be gen or slash, whatever.

Genji can hear Coralie sobbing for air. He scrambles to reach her, running up the outside of the half-collapsed parking garage to the third floor.  
  
Black mist is shedding and curling over the rough concrete, catching like waves on a shore. Reaper is standing, his foot on Coralie's back, tearing one wing of the Valkyrie suit off with slow, terrible strength. The other wing strains and flexes as Coralie struggles to breathe. There is a shotgun pointed at the back of her head.  
  
"Let her go," Genji says. He would attack, but he's sure Reaper would finish off the distraction under his boot before engaging. "She had nothing to do with this."  
  
"I should tear her into little pieces for not being Mercy," Reaper answers without looking up. Genji understands. Reaper had seen Coralie trying to reach a dying soldier in time, had thrown herself out without hesitation, tiny and golden. Reaper must have been sure of his revenge. And Mercy is still out there.  
  
"She was an accidental decoy," Genji says. "She is not even Overwatch. I am."  
  
Reaper looks up. "You are." He scatters a handful of golden rays and hooks a contemptuous toe under Coralie's ribs, kicking her off the broken side of the parking garage. Genji winces, hoping her armor has saved her, and circles around enough to see. She is reaching for her staff. Good enough, she can heal herself and limp away. Genji now has to worry about his own neck. But to his surprise, Reaper is still talking. "Why are you? You know what Mercy will do. You don't know what she'll do next, or who she'll do it to. Or are you hoping Hanzo will be next to join us?"  
  
"You, of all people, know that sometimes we accept our allies in a greater fight. Even when they are dangerous. Even when they have done something to us." Reaper snarls, clutching both shotguns. Genji picks the simplest way possible to disarm him: he reaches up and snaps open his visor. Reaper stands silent. Still. The mist around his feet spreads and roils as if he's feeling the air with it, a cat flicking its whiskers forward. "Show me."  
  
One shotgun falls to the ground (Genji does not make the mistake of thinking it has gone far from his hand.) Reaper tears his mask off and drops it. (Genji knows it is not really gone, either.) They look each other full in the face.  
  
"That is not as bad as I expected," Genji says honestly.  
  
Reaper strides forward. Genji knows he is only as big as in life, but he is still taller and broader than Genji by far, and the shredded shadows peeling up from his shoulders make him seem larger. Genji holds his ground. "You predicted this result, little dragon?" Close up, that blackened and pitted flesh is more disturbing as it moves. Genji reaches up, gently places a hand on his chest armor. Reaper looks down at it. Genji draws it back an inch, turning his fingers over, letting Reaper watch the interplay of the metal and carbon fibers as it flexes.  
  
"Ana described it," he answers.  
  
"You're cozy with Amari these days," Reaper says. Shadows roil in the holes of his eyes. "I suppose she likes you more, now that she has a personal stake in your mission." A clawed gauntlet grabs Genji's shoulder. He registers the pressure: it would be bruising if he had flesh. As it is, Reaper just twists until they hear metal protest, then drops the pressure a tiny notch. Rolls it back the other way, just up to the point of damage, and releases it before anything gives. "You're not fighting. Are you that stoic? Or did she keep the sensation of pain in reserve? Something she could plug back in, if she ever wanted to tighten the leash?"  
  
"I could feel the flesh back when she tried to give me more feeling," Genji says. "And phantom pain. I did not want it."  
  
"Must be fun for her, having a little puzzle she can build up and break down. Endless customization." Reaper tugs off a gauntlet. Part of his hand looks charred, but the thumb is still whole. He wraps his fingers around the side of Genji's head and dips his thumb into the visor. Genji flicks shuriken into his hand automatically, it feels vulnerable beyond words to have Reaper's thumb in his armor, by his eye. But Reaper just drags his thumb across burn-smoothed skin. Genji shivers. "Give her over, Shimada. It's justice, you and I putting her past doing any of this to anyone again."  
  
"What she did to our bodies, Talon would do to our minds," Genji says softly. "And no one would know to look at us. No one would cringe, no one would shudder, no one would fear. All this devastation, hidden under the skin."  
  
Reaper steps close, one arm coming around Genji's shoulders. Shadows sift down over his shoulder, sliding into the dark cracks of Genji's body and uniting with them. He feels held all over, held inside; it's cold, terrifying.  
  
"It. Hurts," Reaper breathes into his ear.  
  
"I know." Genji leans into him. "I know."  
  
"Get away from him, you monster!" screams a new voice. Reaper turns to mist just so a long streak of frost can paint Genji, chilling him so that he can't move before Mei shuts off her blaster. Reaper swirls away. The mask, glove, and shotgun on the floor break into black and white grit and pour after him. Mei runs to Genji. Genji hears the whir as his body heats itself to adjust to the temperature drop. He grabs her wrist and runs with her. The two of them together might take Reaper, or they might get themselves killed. There will be another fight.  
  
"Did you see what was done to Coralie?" Mei asks. "What is wrong with him?" He glances at her. She's staring straight ahead, crying, not expecting a response, not realizing he has one. "What is wrong with him?"


	4. Not Unearthly, Just Unearthed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: So basically, McCree is buried alive and his SO rescues him. Points for lots of cuddling after McCree's rescued :)
> 
> -any ship is fine, though Mchanzo or Mcreaper is preferred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I went McReyes. Y'all know me.

The dirt hasn't settled yet, but they threw him down in the rain. It's only a matter of time. He was able to knock a length of pipe in the grave when he realized they were backing him towards it, and raise it while they were dropping the earth, so he has a small (pathetic) air supply. He whipped off his jacket and got it over his head, but some asshole dropped down and yanked his ankle so they could fucking flatten him. He spent the last of his time before the light was gone making sure they couldn't see him working the pipe upright.   
  
He hopes Reyes isn't too pissed.   
  
An unmarked grave was exactly what he was expecting. He was just expecting to be dead when he hit it. Jesse starts twirling the pipe, tiny, slow circles. He's going to have to work his way up to the surface beside it. No panic, no exhaustion, just get as far as he can. Maybe he'll have time to yell. Maybe someone will hear him. Drops keep ticking down the pipe, reminding him that there's air somewhere up there. Life, if he can get to it. The smell of clay is overpowering, and clumps and clods are heavy points of pressure among the constant weight.  
  
Not yet, he thinks. Not yet, not yet, not yet. He keeps rolling his body, working his limbs, but the rainwater falling on the top of the grave is crushing him with its long, slow settle. He's panting. Fear. Keep moving his arms and legs as much as he can, keep trying to pull his body into a ball so he can press up through the earth. Or try.   
  
Something wet moves on his face, and for a minute he thinks he's closer to the surface than he thinks, it's rain, before there's a spiky constriction and the earthworm slides its body along. He jerks, dropping it somewhere under his head.   
  
He's not making it.   
  
He never knows how much time goes by. Enough time that he's exhausted, enough time that when something hits the pipe and it bangs against his head, he yells in surprise. He can hear a startled shout filtering back down. He yells again, just panic, he's not even sure what the words are. There's answering voices, two of them. Jesse sobs for air, the weight is crushing his ribs, and hangs on.   
  
The weight starts decreasing. He can hear voices, getting louder, but by the time they rake the dirt off his clothes and pull him out he can't open one eye, the dirt's packed down. Strong arms grab him around the shoulders, squeeze him close, and he coughs and coughs and struggles to be alone in the air.   
  
They get him on the transport. He can see himself in the mirror when they bring him into the showers, and Reyes steers him under the showerhead and blasts it on full. There's an immediate splatter of mud onto Reyes, who doesn't seem to notice, or care.  
  
Jesse unlocks his arms from around his ribs and breathes steam. Reyes peels off his clothes as seams and zippers and buttons come visible. Steers him into towels, guides him to the benches outside. His shirt's dirty and Jesse cringes as he leans closer. Reyes scowls, peels it off and drops it, and leans against a tree, dragging Jesse against his chest.   
  
Jesse's too exhausted to talk about it, flopped against him, too weak to move, although he stiffens when Reyes tries to put an arm around him.   
  
"How'd they fuck up?" Gabriel asks conversationally, some time later.   
  
"I'm guessin' they started braggin' and sent you a picture of the grave."  
  
"Uh, hunh." Reyes' voice vibrates in his ears. "We had your tracker's last location and we had a tag on one of them, so we just followed along where they'd been and looked for excavator equipment. Couldn't rush it, because we couldn't go back, but we wouldn't have missed you no matter what. What'd they do wrong?"   
  
He cudgels his brain. "Leavin' the excavator in the open, right near where they were working."   
  
"Un hunh. Kind of a big giveaway." Gabriel's hand starts rubbing little circles on his ribs. Jesse breathes. Shakes. Breathes again. Scrapes himself up a tiny bit. "Now, what'd they do wrong?"   
  
"Didn't cover it up, at all."   
  
"Jesse," Gabriel says. His other hand strokes Jesse's wet hair. God, he must be dripping all over Reyes, surprising he's putting up with it. "Think you need some sleep."   
  
"Don't want to go inside."   
  
Reyes sighs through his nose. "What'd they do wrong?" he asks patiently.   
  
"Didn't kill me." Gabriel makes a little pleased noise. Jesse drops a hand over his, just making sure it wasn't going anywhere.   
  
"Now what'd they do wrong?" He asks it just when Jesse thinks he's right, they're done.   
  
"They fucked with me," Jesse says.   
  
"Now you're thinking." Gabriel's hand smooths water out of his hair, shivering over his shoulder. He shudders, and Gabriel wipes it off, rubs his head with the end of a towel. "What'd they do wrong?"   
  
"They fucked with us."   
  
"Goddamn straight." Gabriel shifts him more comfortably and tucks his chin into Jesse's shoulder. "Get some sleep. We've got a lot to do in the morning."


	5. Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Reaper wants his student back... and he's willing to play dirty to get Mccree on his side.
> 
> Fully consensual please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Manipulation? This isn't so much manipulation as multilevel maneuvering.

"Come on, _vaquero_." He settles the shotgun on his shoulder. He wants to look strong, he wants to look patient. "What can it hurt? No mind control, no games - you and me and the jungle. If you want to walk away at the end, well, I'll have expected better from your ungrateful ass, and we won't have any more of these little talks in the future... but you can walk as far as you want."   
  
"How do I know you won't-"   
  
"Because if I wanted to," he interrupts, "you'd be bleeding all over my armor right now as I dragged you back. You know who I am." He leads Jesse's gaze to the blood trail going in the doorway. "Bet I'll have time to find her for a few more words, too. What do you think?"   
  
Jesse sighs hugely. "I'm in."   
  
"Good choice." Reaper turns and walks with him. Jesse is completely silent, following his lead. At the plane, Reaper hands him two pills.   
  
"Are you serious?"   
  
"It's not my plane. It's a Talon plane, and if they see you walking onto it, they won't just let you walk back off. I've still got time to find her," he adds. "Are you really going to turn back now?"   
  
Jesse stares him in the eye and swallows them.   
  
As soon as Jesse's out, Reyes pats him down, scans him, tucks him into the cryotank and tells the pilot to take off. He watches the tank ice over as they fly. He takes the tank with him when he gets off the plane. Not a good idea to leave anyone he wants to keep in Talon's reach.   
  
Four weeks later, he thaws Jesse out on another plane. Jesse's still drugged as shit, so his skin is warm and dry by the time he's awake. Reaper takes him to the jungle. It's survival training and easy rhythm for a few weeks. Jesse tracks the days on a stick, which Reaper manages to lose. He can tell Jesse likes the familiarity, the escape from the reality of their being enemies. Jesse doesn't care that much about tracking time, and with Reaper beside him, Reaper's not terrorizing Overwatch. So Jesse lets the days slide by until he starts worrying about his friends. Then Reaper shrugs. "Can't say you didn't hold your end of the deal." He flies Jesse back, flips a tiny communicator at McCree. "Up to you if we talk again."   
  
Then he waits.   
  
McCree contacts him a week later. "How long were we in the jungle?"   
  
"Since we left, McCree, you've got to know when that was."   
  
"What'd you drug me with?"   
  
Reaper tells him, honestly.   
  
"What else?"   
  
"Nothing."   
  
"All right, why do they think I'm mind controlled?"   
  
"Jesse, I'm not responsible for Overwatch para-"   
  
"I lost track of time, but I can't have lost track of that much time," Jesse snarls. "I'm missing weeks."   
  
Reaper sighs. He makes it loud enough to hear. "Have I ever drugged you with mystery shit?" Jesse can argue with the truth all he wants.   
  
"...no."  
  
"There's your answer. You lose track of time, you don't blame me. I didn't make you stop counting days." He disconnects. It's the kind of thing that bothers Jesse, and he knows will bother Jesse. So he lets it fester. Avoids. Doesn't answer the next call, it comes too soon to be anything but argument (although it's gold to him that Jesse keeps a way of keeping in contact.)   
  
Picks the next mission he goes on, just enough of a collision course, and he holds back once he's done his part. Lets Widowmaker and the two Talon grunts choose how much to engage.   
  
Jesse comes to find him, as he knew he would, and Reaper doesn't put a hand on his weapons while Jesse approaches.   
  
"Yes, ingrate?"   
  
"Don't give me that. You're up to something. What happened to me?"   
  
"Nothing."   
  
"They think I'm Talon's."   
  
"As if I'd let Talon touch you," Reaper can hear what he thinks about that, rich in his voice.   
  
"Yeah, well, they think-"   
  
"What they think doesn't interest me, Jesse. What do you think?"   
  
"I came to ask you because I don't know!"  
  
"You know what I don't know? I don't know who planted the bombs at headquarters. I want to find out. I can't do it alone."   
  
"So you found me," Jesse says disbelievingly. Reaper says nothing. He's pretty damned sure it was Talon, but he just needs Jesse to think he knows what motivates Reaper to talk to him.   
  
"You want to help me?" he asks. "You want to learn something new? You know how to reach me. Unless they've confiscated that." Jesse tries to say something else, but the point of this isn't a trade of meanings. It's to have been seen talking to him. And it's been long enough.  
  
He turns and leaves.  
  
From her position high above, Ana says, slowly, not wanting to: "They talked. Reaper left first. He never drew a weapon."   
  
Reaper keeps a close eye on Talon activity. After all, if Overwatch cuts Jesse loose, Talon might well pick him up just to have something he wants.   
  
The call comes not long after, and he knows who he expects. "Yes?"   
  
"What did you do?" Jack Morrison doesn't disappoint. Reaper laughs, drops his communicator, and crushes it under his boot.   
  
Then he goes to find Jesse.   
  
They were trying to keep Jesse, of course; once they found the communicator, once they heard Reaper on the other end, they'd want to help him. And Jesse wouldn't be able to wait through their keeping him prisoner and scanning his brain over and over, not when they didn't know what they were looking for.   
  
"You and your fuckin' games," Jesse says, climbing into the hovercar. Reyes smiles at him. The mask he's using now is a face covered with artificial skin. He's not in armor; he is in black. It's night, so the occasional flickers of darkness around him blend right in.   
  
"It's not a game, Jesse," he says. He drives.   
  
Jesse complicates things. He won't let Reaper hunt Overwatch, not while he's anywhere near; so Reaper uses that to be sure he stays near. Jesse frowns at his armor for a long time before he touches the lines of it. Reaper lets him. He wants to try the mask on, as a joke, and fuck yes, Reaper lets him. Wants to wrap him in black, teach him to fight with spiked gloves, glorious complication, free and angry, an expression of everything Reaper wanted before he fell.  
  
Not yet.   
  
"Wish I knew what you wanted," Jesse says to the screen one night. Reaper looks up from the flickering flames. They're in a lab that was pursuing biological warfare. Reaper thought a reminiscent little mission, like the old Blackwatch days, would be just the thing. The canisters are in a different building (except for a tiny one secreted away in a pouch on Reaper's belt, for when it's wanted.) It's safe to burn the research. Avert a change of the course of the world, at least for a few more decades.  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" Reaper spreads his hands.   
  
Jesse doesn't look around. "You could have done this alone. Might have been faster, with that smoke form of yours."   
  
"All right," Reaper says. Strolls forward. Raises Jesse's chin, drags the tip of the claw on his thumb down, raising a fine line of blood all the way to his collarbone. "I don't just want you back because you do good work for me."   
  
"What'd you drug me with?"   
  
Showing all his ruined face would spoil the mood, but he tips his mask up just enough to bare his mouth. "Nothing but what I told you, Jesse." He kisses him. "Nothing but what I told you."   
  
"You're up to something," Jesse mutters into his teeth.   
  
Careful with his claws, he slides his hands down Jesse's back. "Mhm. I am."   
  
The best lies have truth in them.


	6. Weathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I need domestic Mcreyes immediately"
> 
> Well, it wasn't immediate but it's here. 
> 
> Elemental-Forces verse, steering away from plot.

The sunlight soaks into the curtains. Reyes sits in the relic of a kitchen, watching Jesse waking up.

It starts with a brush of the back of one hand over a scruffy face (he hasn't shaved and trimmed his beard yet, he looks rugged, Reyes approves) and a few long blinks. Then a couple of sips of coffee. The damn barncat is crunching dry food contentedly under the counter.

"Y'know, it's a big day today," Jesse says when he sees Gabriel looking. "Maybe someone should have let me sleep more."

That deserves a proper response. Gabriel takes a long sip of coffee, deliberately sucks all sincerity from his voice, gives Jesse a smile full of teeth, and says: "sorry."

Jesse snorts and kicks him under the table. "Right. We got..."

"Everything for kimbap, ready," says Gabriel. "Recipe says the rice should still be warm, so I didn't make it ahead of time. Vegetables are sliced. Green tea, green tea candles: ready and ready. Fresh shrimp: in. Beef: thawed. Guest bedrooms clean. Guest bathrooms stocked. Damn cat kept out of all four." They both look at the cat, which innocently continues to crunch its food. "Security system programmed to accept guest cards. Guest cards reported in the hands of guests."

There's silence, except for the calls of insects and birds drifting through the open window. Sometimes, Gabriel remembers back when he encouraged Jesse to take more schooling (he did it for everyone who worked for him, in case they had too many injuries to stay in service. No matter what they sacrificed for him, he had too many responsibilities to shepherd them once they left.) He'd been absolutely fucking _sure_ Jesse was elaborately shitting him when he set aside time, working on agricultural science.

Hell no. Jesse's going after a degree in it, with emphasis on livestock. Jesse's got a ranch. Last year was bad, but they're still afloat without needing too much from Jesse's disreputable savings.

Jesse narrows his eyes. "We're forgettin' somethin'."

"We're ready," Gabriel says. "We've been planning this for weeks." He realizes he's tapping his fingers on his thigh under the table, and stops. Hana and Genji are Jesse's friends and they're welcome. They know he'll be here this time. He feels like he should be camping anyway. Like he should just back off and let them have this. The shadows in Jesse's eyes haven't gone away. The nightmares come and go in a pattern that suggests his brain's catching up with himself, letting the monsters out of the basement a few at a time. He flinches sometimes, when Gabriel moves behind him. Sometimes, when they're sitting in the empty house, he demands Gabriel talks. Gabriel does, so they can both hear he's not Reaper, whether Jesse's looking his way or not.

Gabriel put nightlights in every goddamn room of the house five months ago. Jesse didn't say anything, didn't take any down. And the hell of it is, Gabriel thinks they've helped.

"Is that an engine?" Jesse stands up. "Holy damn-" he sweeps up his coffee and heads back for the bathroom. Gabriel blinks. Well. It's up to him. He sweeps up the cat and its food dish. There are little protesting mews and desperate pawpats on the hand holding the dish. He puts the dish in his and Jesse's bedroom and gently chucks the cat in, closing the door on its startled little whirl.

It's Hana. She's wearing some kind of bright, loose, puffy shirt with big flowers all over it. There's an instant where they take each other in (Gabriel's in a tight, short-sleeved black shirt, and black jeans. He wishes he'd picked another color.) Then Gabriel stands back. "Jesse's still getting some things together."

"I told him not to worry," she says, stepping inside, pulling her suitcase close against her leg like it's a frightened animal. "It's just a friendly visit."

He nods. It isn't just a friendly visit. She's lying low for the duration, and maybe longer. But this is the safest place Overwatch has right now for one woman to shelter for the next year. (Maybe longer.)  

"You've eaten, right?"

"Right."

"This way." He leads her to the guest bedroom. It's the larger one, because Genji will have fewer things to move into the room over time. "Soundproof if you shut the windows. There's a little comm station set up in the attic; the light there lets you know if you've got a message."

"I've been here," she reminds him, putting her suitcase on the windowseat. "Thank you."

He nods. He steps back outside, pulling the door shut behind him. So fucking awkward. He should have gone camping. But, well, it's her home until she's ready to leave.

Jesse comes out just as he's stepping onto the porch, watching the next car. Hana took a taxi to his and Jesse's little backup vehicle. Genji has a rental, and parks it an appropriate distance from the house.

"The door bucket!" Jesse's opening closet doors.

"Already got it."

"Oh. Good." Jesse's still fussing around, lighting candles. They can't give Genji much in the way of food, but they can give him scents, they can give him homelike. Genji walks up to the house as calm and contained as ever. He's "dressed" in disguise; he's wearing a shell made to look like a delivery Omnic.  Its heavy soles have him taller, not quite up to Gabriel's shoulder.

Jesse joins him in the doorway, pressing against him with a friendly elbow. Genji nods to both of them, although he doesn't speak, just picks up the cloth from the bucket and wipes his feet. He can't take his shoes off, after all. As soon as the door shuts behind him, he takes off the clumsy fake head. Jesse takes it, helping him out of the rest of the shell before hugging him hugely.

"Welcome," Gabriel says. Because he can't just stand there like a bad memory.

"Thank you," says Genji politely. He has a tiny bag hanging from one wrist. Gabriel bets that's the gift, and is glad he already wrapped their cards in case Genji gives it early. Gabriel helps... what do they do with that damn shell? Stack it in a closet? Genji keeps looking around, putting his feet down nervously.

"The cat's shut up," Gabriel says. He's sure there are " _eeeiiuuu!_ "s of protest in the bedroom, but they were damned careful to soundproof some rooms while they were remodeling.

"I have gotten used to tails on the floor," Genji says, "but it is good to know."

"Damn thing has no fucking sense," Gabriel agrees. He helps Jesse stack the shell. They close the closet door just before it overbalances and clunks. Gabriel cracks the door and tries to stabilize it, but finally makes a note to himself: expect it when he opens the door next. It's going to be startling to rain himself with Omnic parts.  

He stays busy with pretexts. Go outside, get chores done, chat with the _gauchos_ about things that need to be done (they know better than he does, but he can at least nod along with what he knows Jesse would approve.) Walk along the fence, as if there weren't sensors to tell him if there was a fucking problem anywhere along the perimeter.

Give them time.

When he comes back in, Jesse's frying eggs in one pan and beef in another for kimbap. Hana's sitting at the table. Her puffy shirt has settled; he can see the swell of her belly. Genji is sitting in the breakfast nook, playing with Jesse's damn barncat. Gabriel leans against the door until Jesse glances up. Then he makes himself useful, draining beef. Nobody says anything. Jesse's frowning. "Hana, did I do right with the spinach?"

She pokes it with a finger. "Yep! It's fine!"

"Thanks." Genji gets up, washes his hands, comes over to the table, and silently starts laying out nori sheets. Hana grabs the cat as it leaps up on a chair, ready to put its nose in.

"Watch that fucker, he'll steal beef," Gabriel says.

"I've got him." Hana scritches its head. Genji prowls over to the pantry.

"What'd'ya need?" The contraction rolls out of Jesse's mouth, as easy as any of the syllables he strings together out of improbable English. Gabriel can still remember training him out of "disremember" as a recruit. Fuck. He kind of wishes he'd left that. All of his _fucking_ interference.  

"Sesame oil?"

Top shelf. Gabriel silently comes over and gets it. Genji accepts it. The kitchen smells like ground beef, cooked carrots, pickle, blanched spinach, green tea. For all the little haven they've built, guests are throwing him off, making him feel like a dark shadow in the kitchen. Gabriel defiantly gets himself some orange juice, grounds himself in acid brightness.

They roll the kimbap together. Genji slices it. They take up all the seats, eat the kimbap, fend the damn cat off with their elbows as it tries to climb into laps and gain the tabletop. Gabriel clears the plates as Jesse and Hana chat about the future.

"Wait," says Genji, as Gabriel steps towards the front door. "I would like to see the ranch."

"Jesse was talking about showing you, this evening," Gabriel says without looking back.

"There is enough to look at more than once," Genji says, amused. Gabriel steps outside and holds the door open. Genji steps out. He bends down in a quicksilver arc and scoops the cat up, tossing it back inside as though he's been there for years. They walk out into the open air. The day is bright and innocent, and the grasslands stretch out before them like a new beginning. Behind them, they can hear the clink of plates as Jesse starts the dishes.  


	7. Velvet Gown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "jesse needs a suit for a honeypot mission. Hes never had one nor wear one in his life. Reyes takes care of him"

"No," says Reyes. Right after he told Jesse about accessorizing, which he's not sure Jesse heard a goddamn word of, those shoes. The suit is like a peacock fucked a shower curtain. How did he find that in the store? "Jesus Christ, you're a trainwreck."

Jesse blinks, hurt. Reyes jerks his chin at the dressing rooms. "Just go, sit down, shut up, wait." He looks through the racks. No, no, no. Okay, string of _yes._ He goes and hands them through the curtain. "Start with the gray one. Do not fucking mix and match, or you won't need to worry about shaving because you won't have fucking _skin._ " He pauses. "Also, where did you learn to tie a tie?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"McCree." The whole damned store has been secured by his agents, and one of them has the manager outside by the door, so he can say whatever the fuck he wants. He does. "It's a goddamn honeypot. You know what that means?"

"She has to want to get close to me."

Reyes pinches the bridge of his nose. "It means that you make her want to get close to you, and you let her get as fucking close as is required for mission success. In this case, we just need the dye transfer from your skin to hers, so that when she goes on her mission later, we can prove it was her when we turn on the detectors, because she'll have left a fucking trail. And the local government can't refuse to turn her over, and we finally have our informant. So if she touches you-"

"And it's going to be under my clothes so not everyone has it."

"Right."

"Boss... what's mission succcess?"

"Her skin on yours," Reyes says flatly.

The sound of cloth sliding has stopped. "I don't like women," Jesse says.

"Cry me a fucking river, and get her to rub on you," Reyes says. "It's your mission. It is literally your fucking mission."

"An' what's wrong with how I tie a tie?"

"Bitch has the bad taste to like boys," Reyes says ruthlessly. "So you play up the reckless. You tie it a little off. You look impetuous, you look rash, you look just disheveled enough for her to want to fix it."

"What's wrong with boys?" Jesse pushes the curtain open. His tie is impeccable, does he ever listen? The lines are wrong. Reyes shakes his head and yanks the curtain shut again. "Try the pinstripe."

"Which-"

"The narrowest stripes, punk."

"What's wrong with boys?"

So goddamn insistent, no idea when to let it drop. Reyes bares his teeth in a smile at the curtain. "They're not men." Jesse steps out through the curtain, pulling it to frame himself in a way Reyes suspects in the back of his mind. He doesn't have time for it. "How much does that suit cost?"

Jesse frowns, checking the tag. "Three hundred fifty. That matter?"

"You're wearing three hundred fifty dollars on your slouching shoulders, and you didn't tuck in your god damned shirt. You're going to wear a suit like you're civilized if it's the last thing you do. Got me?" Jesse makes a motion with his lips like he would like to mutter, but he's learned about that. He just brushes the jacket up and back to work the white shirt into place. Reyes freezes. Grabs him by the tie and yanks. "You get that goddamn worn-ass belt off and put it in the trash. She gets your jacket open, she's gonna die laughing and we'll have wasted every second of planning for this fucking op."

"Sir, yes, sir," says Jesse in self-defense, lashes wide. Reyes shoves him back through the curtain. Jesse damn near brings the damn thing down flailing. Reyes shakes his head.

"I'm nineteen," Jesse says.

"You really sound like an adult, _niño_ ," Reyes gives him feedback, harsh is good for him. "It's the whine. Nearly puts you at drinking age."

He can hear the sound of a belt hitting the bottom of the trash can. It's loud enough to tell him that Jesse's trying to cover that he's put the fucking buckle in his everyday pants pocket.

"You think I'm mature," Jesse says.

"Think a-fucking-gain."

"You want me to go get naked with a lady," Jesse says, logically. "You didn't say a goddamn thing about arresting her for statutory rape, and if you think I'm a kid, isn't that... not what you should do? So you gotta think I'm old enough."

Oh. Right. McCree has a knack for strategic thinking, which he likes to bring out only when it tangles Reyes' fucking ankles. Reyes pushes his fingers against his temple. "McCree."

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to tell you this once," he says, and all movement inside stops, because Jesse knows when he hears the serious voice. "I control your life right now. Every minute of your time. Who you're around. What you eat, when you eat, where you go, what you do. What you're supposed to be thinking about. Right now, you're young and dumb enough to not be scared of that, so I'm telling you: if anyone has that power over you, the last place you get is their pants. I'm your Commander. I'm protecting you. I'm protecting me. Get your goddamn mind on your goddamn job and hit on your own fucking rank."

Jesse steps out. Gabriel looks him up and down. "Best - McCree, you fuckup, if I ever see you in brown shoes with a navy suit again you're going straight in the nearest trashcan. I don't care what size it is."

"Why's it the best? It don't fit right."

"The hang's not right because you're built like a flagpole," Reyes says. "It just needs tailoring. They all do, only you just now figured it out. Try the brown one. Even you can get the shoes right for that." Jesse steps back inside the curtain before Reyes has to stuff his dumb ass in.

There's a long silence, and just when he's about to sarcastically ask if Jesse's asleep, Jesse comes out. The brown suit's the best, he sees immediately. Red tie, done carelessly. Gabriel reaches up automatically to straighten his tie. His hands freeze.

Jesse smiles.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and shoves him back through the curtain.

 


	8. Oak and Loam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "dark mage Gabe rescuing this kid who's about to be sacrificed. And in return he makes Jesse his apprentice."
> 
> Went for a more shamanistic spin.

Gabriel finds the cave on the evening that the ice on the river starts to crack, sound booming through the valley. _Wander_ is winging his way high overhead, blind and borrowing Gabriel's eyes to see mundane things like branches, feeding to Gabriel a map of magical energy, leylines and lifelines. Gabriel could see the tangled knot of their sacrifices from the hills on the other side.

It pisses him off. It's going to take him a year and a hundred little sacrifices to run the leylines clear again and use them for his own purposes. _Wander_ zigs and zags, hunting for a way in that follows what Gabriel can see. Gabriel calls him back, pulls fire into one hand and lightning into the other.

It's a cult, he finds, a coven, but he kills their sentry in silence and raises his body to fight, and it's over before they know it's begun; they sink their lethal curses into dead flesh, and then Gabriel is unleashing the wrath of the leylines on them and following it up with the fires of hell.

There's a lot of work they've done in the cave, and he tries not to see ages, faces, of the dead and of the parts scattered across the floor. The forearm and hand on the altar are the most interesting, anyway, because it looks like their power is being _sapped_ and that means there's still life -

 _Wander_ flutters his wings patiently, and Gabriel reaches down to the chain and drags the sacrifice out from where he'd been trying to hide beneath a bear pelt and a carelessly dropped corpse.

He tries to kill Gabriel. Then he passes out. Gabriel takes the chain off, binds his wounds, does a better job on the pathetic patchwork smacked on his arm so he won't bleed to death, and is unknotting the spells and curses when the... not boy, there's a few markings on his back that say he's survived his tribe's adult ritual, but it's hard to think of him as a man when he's so damn scrawny... whelp wakes up. Gabriel glances at his eyes. The whelp is following his motions as he unpicks the magical cords and lets them wither.

He stops when the whelp reaches out and pokes at one, shaking his finger and frowning when it doesn't respond. Gabriel moves his hands so the whelp can see how he's doing it.

He has a third shadow when he leaves the cave.

**

 _Wander_ is unusually kind, whispering to the whelp as he dreams.

**

He won't let the whelp do anything that comes near his ritual space. He notices that the whelp copies him anyway, smudging the kitchen earnestly with smoke in a copy of how Gabriel drives out the hungry spirits from his study, banishing the doorstep with symbols drawn in ash. Gabriel notices he can see the lines between the lines, the things most people miss.

He first uses the whelp to speak with the dead, sitting him down, feeding him the ritual wine, and walking him through relaxing himself enough to be a conduit. The whelp takes to it, letting his muscles slack and putting his life's power into channeling them. Gabriel banishes one near dawn for trying to drain him dry.

The whelp resisted first and damn near threw him out on his own.

Gabriel starts teaching him the language.

**

 _Jesse_ is his name. Gabriel can't get the meaning, but he takes it, moving it from a name he can't quite speak (like _Wander's_ ) into a part of his home, everyday as a pot or pan, fond as his favorite ritual knife.  

**

Jesse's tribe comes through, making a minor fuss before turning raider's attention to the village at the end of the valley. Jesse stands back and watches their arrows and axes with critical concern.

He can't raise a hand against them, Gabriel notices, but he earnestly whispers all the confounding spells he's picked up, trying to muddle their path to the village and confuse them into just going home. Some of the band does give up and slip away.

When the rest of them persist, Gabriel gently puts Jesse to sleep. After all, life and death are part of the wheel, and if lives are shed in summer the winter might be less desperate. He sheaths his knife in warmth and begs for the frost to not spike between the ribs of the old; he plunges one into the pond and asks the thing in the depths to not crack the ice when the village boys skate; he drags one to the burning field and speaks to the Prideful One when it comes up from the flames to take what is offered.

In the morning, Jesse wakes, and stands, and breathes in the air, cut and cross-cut with a thousand magics, and knows. He turns his back to Gabriel and fasts. Gabriel does not prevent him.

At the end of a week, Jesse is asleep at the foot of his cot. Gabriel stands up, stretches, and gets his own journeyman cape out of the chest at the end of the bed. He throws it over Jesse.

**

"My ma was teaching me," Jesse says, when they have spoken their languages well enough that Jesse can find meanings the moment he reaches for them. "She kept them on track until.... for a long time."

Gabriel can see the shadows on his face, remember the violence in their hands.

**

When Jesse has a familiar, it is time to teach him to replace his body.

Jesse is not bad at asking branches to curl and work for him, but when it is time to put the branch end against the stump of his arm and ask it to stay, even temporarily, his nerve breaks.

Gabriel pushes it, not because he wants to be cruel, but because too many spells call for power to be steadied by one hand. The last thing Jesse needs is to blow his other arm off.

**

He civilizes Jesse over the years, teaches him more respect for paper, the need for tools, to stop just going with his gut and always take a second look, a deeper look.

They both expected Jesse to leave at the end of five years, but he cuts the journeyman cape into a smaller triangle and wears it around his neck as if it will stay forever.

Gabriel lets _Wander_ have the rest of the cape to nest.

**

Gabriel realizes that Jesse is like a familiar to him one day, and knows the word for it. Jesse's body is not at its time, he knows; if Gabriel were five years younger, it would be, but the balance between them is still too far.

He teaches Jesse all the symbols, and when Jesse understands what they mean, Jesse approaches with Gabriel's own favorite knife in hand. Gabriel soberly bares his flesh and lets Jesse cut.

He must have been practicing his knifework for a long time; not a line is out of place, too shallow, too deep. Gabriel seals the symbols and bears the scars. Jesse kneels before him until Gabriel tells him to get up.

He doesn't return the cuts, and knows Jesse feels disappointment. He does not explain; if Jesse wants to walk away, Gabriel will bear them for the rest of his days, and never let another soul touch them.

Jesse does not walk away.

**

Gabriel has Jesse bury him for a season. He moves around the home in the ritual form he has built sometimes, showing Jesse that a whole body of twigs and moss is nothing to be feared. He haunts him in _Wander's_ body, borrowing Jesse's own vision with the ease of familiarity.

Jesse lets Gabriel possess him the moment he brushes his mind, and they spend an easy week together, breathing the same air, tasting the broth Jesse makes. Once, they cast spellwork through the night, anchoring the leylines into a symbol to divert plagues from the land, averting a flood and a landslide in the region, easing the passage of a lost and suffering man to death. That kind of intensity is not advisable in a shared body, but Gabriel demands it knowing that he will get it.

Jesse digs him up at the end of the season. Gabriel buries him for a week. Jesse is not able to leave his body once, but when Gabriel digs him up he speaks the secrets of the earth until Gabriel tells him to hold them like its silence, because they are for him.

**

In fall, they harvest, and their rituals are for preparation. In winter, they tell stories, and work rituals related to darkness, the sweetness of rest. In spring, they start a new beginning. First they go through the same rituals of renewal they touch on every spring. 

That spring, Gabriel thinks a while. Jesse has always seemed green and new in many ways, but he is mature now and their balance is evening. He meditates on it until he is sure it is time to ask, takes them both to bathe, and teaches him new worlds. There are many rites for spring that call for heat, that call for rut, and Gabriel touches on each and dwells with the ones that resonate the strongest between them and the ritual lines around them. (Gabriel teases him secretly for years after by calling him the name of a plant Jesse's tribe knows; it blooms before any others and has tiny, ripe fruit while other plants are still trying to bear spring buds. Jesse blushes every time.) 

Summer is growth and the steady rise of power, competition and undercutting, and Gabriel knows one day in summer Jesse will challenge him.

He paints Jesse's body in careful ritual that fall. They call down small meteors from the sky, gather them up and make them into arrowheads that will never miss. There will be another battle eventually, Gabriel knows.

**

Jesse does not challenge him. When Gabriel realizes how many opportunities have gone by, he hangs between the bone knife from Jesse's first kill, and his flint one. Jesse comes in while he is choosing. Their familiars groom each other while Jesse strips and stands quietly.

Gabriel matches the symbols on his own skin, cut for cut, and adds one more tiny mark at the top of Jesse's spine. Jesse stands very still until it's over, then clings to him, shivering, while Gabriel rubs the right unguent into the cuts. They scar in a mirror of Gabriel's own.

Their spellwork that night will hold in the land for a thousand years. Gabriel chooses carefully. Jesse listens carefully, and just when Gabriel is reconsidering, agrees that it is good.

**

 They sleep together in a warm tangle of limbs, the echoes and buzz of shared magic bouncing between their skins. Their familiars hunt the night, _Seeker_ lending _Wander_ his eyes, and come back with a thousand mysteries they hint at for the rest of their lives.


	9. Blended and Pulsed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALL THE WARNINGS FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. 
> 
> Prompt: "I want an actual overwatch horror story for halloween. Mccree running around in terror as all his friends are picked off by some unknown killer. Or stranded in a haunted house while reality warps around them"
> 
> Also y'all can leave prompts if you want guys, I'm just rolling with whatever works for me when I read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a line from Silent Hill...

Tracer catches her breath.

She knows where her friends are: they're in the basement. The Butcher is stalking the grounds, cleaver in hand. The Tank is rumbling through the hallways, trailing an axe that's as big as she is. The Demon is flying around the upper balconies, near the two twisted things that she has not dared to stand in range of.

She just has to get to the basement, and take out whatever tries to stop her and she _can,_ she's been at this for hours and she hasn't gotten anywhere. She pushes up her goggles, stop tearing up, stop-

The sound warns her, and she's up in a flash. It's... she doesn't know what she's looking at, demon eyes low in the dark, before she realizes that's a _chestplate_ this thing is copying _Jesse_ and she brings her guns up with a cry of rage and empties them both. It's garbling screams and roars at her, forced to bring up one claw-arm folded over its head, sparks skipping off its breastplate. The Demon comes swooping down from the heavens, and Tracer is ready for it this time, darting forward with a pulse bomb thrown. A pale thing - that's an arm, one of the twisted gargoyle-shapes is shooting _human arms at her_ sends it skipping off to one side. Tracer blinks forward, firing her guns at the demon's face, and recalls just as the McCree-demon lunges. She can hear the ground shake as the Tank runs towards them, its bellow tearing the air.

Tracer runs, runs as if she can run through time for all of her life, darting to the back garden. She saw the Shadow here, and she slows, picking her footsteps carefully and quietly. She let herself get driven back once. The Shadow is everything Reaper was, but with a thousand more eyes; she doesn't know if she can even fight it. She hit it with a pulse bomb, but she could hear it still moving and screaming when she blinked away. She'd run into the backdoor, hit some kind of twisted monstrosity based off D.Va's mecha, and recalled all the way outside the greenhouse.

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair, they just got Gabriel back and everything went to hell.

She stops for a minute, looking up at the nightmarish garden. It's covered in spiders and silk, and she's afraid the memory of Widowmaker is haunting her, that some demon's going to wind down from the darkness with her graceful long legs, so many of them, and cutting mandibles - would it spit poison, based on-

She can't keep panicking herself. She can't keep freaking out. Her friends are trapped in the basement and she's all they've got. She wipes her face and nose with the back of her hand and grips her pistols.

There's a sliding sound in the greenhouse.

She hurt the Vigilante, and the Demon will be busy with it; the Tank is probably still circling them, looking for more pulse bombs. She only has the Shadow to get past, and she's in the house, where the thing's stomping feet will warn her (if it can move at all; it  looked like it was fused with the melting wall.)

She can hear the demonsong rising up from the front of the house, over and over. If she listens too closely, it's her name.

She tightens her fists and blinks forward.

The door is open. She thinks it's a trap, but if she times it right she can be deep past it, with Recall if she gets into too much trouble. She dances forward and _goes._

She's down the darkened hall and past the creaky boards, and she slows, taking each step careful and balanced. The door is far down the hall, chains stretched over it. She can hear them weeping past it, calling for her, god, what's been _done_ to them? Jesse sounds like he's being ripped apart. When she listens too hard she thinks she can hear popping and tearing sounds.

Tracer starts running towards the door.

The demon leaps out. It's small, just a little taller than her, and she screams and throws a pulse bomb right at its face. Another shape leaps out, green-eyed and metal-scaled, and she opens fire with both pistols. They wail like all Hell. The pulse bomb goes off with a brilliant white flash.

Tracer recalls.

There's all kinds of noise in the house now; how is she going to save them? The Demon just keeps bringing them back, she doesn't know how long she can _do_ this -

No. She is the Girl Out of Time, and she is _never_ out of time. Tracer reloads and kicks off, running to find a way to save her friends.

**

"Genji!" Hanzo is screaming. "Genji!"

"Mercy! Mercy, can you resurrect? Jesus! Hana!" Jack is holding Hana's bloody hair off her face, holding her glove in his hand. The pulse bomb blew Genji's metal body into her. The dark is merciful; they cannot see what has been done.

"She's in the garden," Gabriel's voice says. "I'm going to try to keep her busy. Start the countdown. Get out."

"No," Jesse says, metal arm hanging, shattered, "you just came back, we just got you back, you can't sacrifice yourself _now_ -"

"If I'd done it already, they'd still be alive." Gabriel's voice is flint. "You saw her. I don't know if we can get her back at all. We can't let Talon keep their stores. We can't risk the agent she absorbed spreading to anyone else. Mercy can't keep in the sky forever, not if we've lost Genji to help Hanzo pull her across the roof. It's over. Fucking quit stalling. She's got another pulse bomb right now."

Jack goes silent, watching the door, pulse rifle in hand. Jesse knows that if Tracer appears, he's blowing her to hell, so he runs for the side door. He grabs Hanzo on the way as the archer touches down. Tugs him along. Hanzo resists. Jesse yanks. Hanzo shoves him off, but he understands, and they both run for the open air together. Jesse kicks the battered door open. Reinhardt, out of breath from his laps around the courtyard trying to get his shield there in time, is stretching out a hand, trying to call a warning.

Tracer appears, grinning manically. Jesse hears the pulse bomb hit his breastplate.  "Right on target!" she cries, and disappears.

Jesse and Hanzo have just enough time to reach for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They look like demons to you?"


	10. Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: VAMPIRES. With plot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR BRIEF ANIMAL DEATH :(
> 
> You will not get to know the animals or anything. They were probably jerks. But alas.

Gabriel and Jack face their traitorous circles at the same time, back to back. The difference is that Gabriel's has already done what they need to do, they just need him to take their curse (linking him to them, allowing them to track him should he try to make a single move against them) and go far into exile, undead and hounded. While Jack's coven is trying to face him with a choice, trying to make him their puppet, so that he can save Gabriel as far as they will let him.

Gabriel takes another option.

He lunges at the priest, his second in command, and drags him down and strangles him, bites him, makes him throw the curse at Gabriel too early, and Gabriel fucking welcomes it. The curse breaks free with a roar and seizes on him. Gabriel is gone, lost, found, all at once. The curse eats his power, takes him with it. They all cast the curse, and it binds them all to him, so that he will always, always find them, in the end. The lights go out.

The survivors of both circles scatter.

Gabriel holds Jack as they grieve. He feels his skin break apart with the first touch of sunlight. He comforts him for as long as he can before it drives him across the ground as mist. Jack waits for him.

"Don't ask me to come with you," he says. "I can't."

Gabriel nods. He has descended into this curse, and it has settled into what it was derived from; he is a vampire, and he is damned, and he feels more alone than ever before. And there are rules to this thing he has thrown himself into. He has terms now, he has conditions on how he can be killed and how he can add others to his line.

...He just doesn't know them yet. He can't ask Jack to come along when he doesn't know a damn thing about himself (and what if he can only eat babies' blood, or something? Jack will have to watch him figure out how to kill himself. Bullshit, he's just going to take the powers for a little test drive.)

**

He learns that the blood of his own traitorous coven is a thousand times more potent to him than anyone else's. He doesn't even need to kill them for it to sustain him as if he'd taken ten unrelated lives.

He drags one to prison and pays guards who do not know any of his languages to keep him isolated. He puts one in a sanitarium in a poverty-stricken hellhole, tongueless and handless, paying a high price to have him kept alive. The taste of his blood is addictive, eats the mind, and gives him power over the one that takes it. It's an ugly, invasive thing that leaves him feeling... not dirty, but cheapened. He does it once to see how it works, and stops.

He fails to make others like him, although he tries once with an old friend. It fails. He doesn't know the rules. He finds an ancient vampire and begs for help, which he gets only because his plight is rare and amusing. He is told what to watch for. They study his powers and the traits associated, observe the ritual signs that form themselves when he casts long enough with blood and shadows, and they derive the rules that bind how he can share his curse:

  1. There must be a... the other vampire says _defilement_ with great amusement, but he prefers to think of it with Spanish words he knows better; the upshot is, a turning of one against oneself. He knows where that comes from: the part of him that knows manipulation.
  2. It must be willing. He's not surprised at that; he wants cooperation.
  3. He must love them. That throws him, until he realizes that he only trusts those that are like family.



The other vampire thinks that is hilarious. Gabriel just thinks it's interesting that the one he turns need not love him. He thought his 3. more in line with Jack's way of seeing the world.

He tells Morrison all of them, and is not at all surprised to see Morrison thinking about 1. as if he were evaluating when it needed to happen, if it needed to be when they were alive. Gabriel hugs him, listening to the blood moving through his heart and veins. They part on their separate missions.

Jack still wants to clear Gabriel's name.

**

A kill for revenge puts the hunter on him.

Gabriel's never liked being hunted. Even before the buzz and rush of the blood has faded, he's got a bad feeling, like there's eyes on his back already. He takes the body with him. Throws it down a dry well. But he knows he was seen talking to the mark, he knows people will put the pieces together, know who he is, why he came here. He can't clear his name but he can have his revenge, piece by piece. Everyone that profited off his life and death can be dragged through his appetite and into the grave.

**

The qualifications of being cleared of his curse, stripped of shadow and bled out, broken from his bones and cast to hell:

  1. A native son
  2. On sacred ground
  3. _Purity_ the other vampire says with great amusement. Gabriel reflects, and clarifies this to _an untainted inner quality_.



Before the fall, he made his living in making openings, finding loopholes. These are all looser than he would like.

**

The hunter is very interesting. He has no untainted inner qualities but one: he's relentless. He shoots through gaps in trees, spaces between doors, and while he can't kill Gabriel he can sure as _fuck_ deny him peace; nobody wants to be shot or set on fire, or just stalked and taunted with incessant whistling, humming, the occasional dogwhistle.

The hunter knows all about warding symbols. He can stop Gabriel from getting right in his face, he can stop him from smashing him with rocks, he can purify the ground where Gabriel tries to rest and drive him into the unfriendly sunlight.

Gabriel finally kills his horse.

That _really_ pisses the man off.

Gabriel finally puts some investment into the fight. He has to kill in order to muster the strength to shatter some of those wards, so he chooses his target well. Then he forces a confrontation while they're tearing across Mexico. After the Problem that woke the robot servants attacked self-driving vehicles, nobody uses cars anymore. Carriages have many weak points. Gabriel catches the carriage driver as he falls, screaming, and puts him on his feet. Then he puts the other horse out of its misery.

"You sure are fond of dead horses," the hunter says sourly. The carriage driver turns tail and runs. They both watch him go. "An' he sure is excitable." He looks... innocent, in an odd way, _pure of heart_ runs through the back of Gabriel's mind. Like he's never had to take a bad bargain, throw good away with the bad. The light in his eyes is hot, fierce, and Gabriel wishes he were still alive. 

"You know," Gabriel says, "if you weren't running after me, I wouldn't have to do this." He sweeps the shotgun towards the headless horse on the ground, and its partner with its neck broken in the traces.

"An' if you weren't a _fuckin'_ vampire, I wouldn't have to do this."

"That's all this is? Old score with someone else?"

"An' the money," the hunter says candidly, reaching for the crossbow on his back. "Money's fine."

"Who was it?"

The hunter shakes his head. "Now, now. You're tryin' to distract me."

He believes it, Gabriel decides. And he's enjoying this; he thinks he has the upper hand. Gabriel rests a foot on the spokes of the nearest carriage wheel. "So what are you looking at that you like so much?" he asks. "Is it just me? It's got to be just me, or someone would have used it to tear you apart by now." There's just the tiniest shade of hesitation, he's thrown the hunter off.

"Never thought you'd be so fuckin' talkative. Gabriel Reyes, half devil in life and Satan in death, could talk the hind limb off a donkey." The hunter's hand is still moving, deceptively slow, towards the crossbow's grip.

"Wrong angel. Lucifer went Satan. You know there's standards for who kills me, right? Like, any asshole could take my head off, smash my skull open and burn the shadows off me. Not everyone can make me stay that way." 

"Eh," the hunter says, "you'd be surprised how much overlap there is in vampire weaknesses. I figure I got a shot." The crossbow's coming down in his hand, quickest draw Gabriel's ever seen. Gabriel kicks as hard as he can. Wood splinters, the wheel breaks, and the carriage falls. The hunter doesn't pull the trigger, too disciplined, but he does hit the dirt and it gives Gabriel space. Gabriel wrenches the crossbow away and throws it. The hunter's eyes are wide and his pulse is pounding, but that's not bitter terror in the air, he's already put thought into his moves in this fight. He's waiting for Gabriel's next attack to set off the magical defenses under his coat, punish the vampire for his aggression.

So Gabriel tears the wall off the carriage and drops it on him. While the hunter's struggling out, Gabriel drags the dead horse over and spills horse intestines over the wall. He leaves him to fight _that._

Across Mexico. Into Panama, then northward again, because his prey is alert and runs quickly. There is a problem with his new plaything. The hunter's pursuit is like a string of tin cans on his leg: he may be amusing, but he is also noisy.

**

 "Y'know," says a voice from the dark, "I'm startin' to find this kind of insultin'."

"You got out of the well quick," Gabriel says without looking up. He knows his name by now, and his favorite food (because he's been on the other side of the wall listening to him talk as he ate, he's caught it on his breath, he's seen him unpack it at his campsite.)

"It was right in the middle of town! Just had to keep treadin' water."

Gabriel hides a smile. "Look," he says. "It's experience as much as skill. Just go home, maybe run a couple smaller hunts, come back at me in five years." He glances up. "And rebuild your funds. You think I can't tell the cheap bullets when I feel them?"

"Some asshole went and blew up a whole cart full of explosives I'd just bought."

"If you don't want me springing traps, don't let me see them."

"You've got to die on sacred ground," Jesse says with slow certainty. "That's one, Mr. Fallen Angel."

"You sure?"

"Yes. You saw where the cart was goin', and you blew yourself up with it before it got there."

He's clever, Reyes will give him that.

He leaves the hunter floating in a water tower this time.

**

Chasing him around Mexico isn't cheap, and there's no fucking payoff. He scrapes McCree off with financial pressure. At first, he welcomes the peace and quiet. He's also had a good long time to plan how he's going to keep a third member of his traitorous coven alive, and where.

The next hunters they send after him are savage and efficient. As soon as they realize he doesn't want to kill people who aren't involved in the fight, he has to step in, because their next move is to start taking hostages. There's a lot of pride in putting them down, but there's no payoff in it.

Gabriel finds he is lonely.

He finds he is bored.

**

The idea of using a go-between to send Jesse on a side hunt makes him laugh uproariously for about five minutes. So he does it.

Jesse's on his tail as soon as he has the funds.

**

"Native son," says Jesse after a long, long fight. He's driven Gabriel into sunlight three times, and followed him four.

"Sorry?"

"That's what that little twistin' trail when you're startin' to reform is showin'. You can be killed by a native son." McCree tips his hat. "I got two out of three. You'd best get serious."

"You're native?"

"I'm a mutt from all over the globe, which means a little piece o' me belongs _everywhere._ "

"You didn't recognize it before. Look at you, practicing to be a _real_ hunter."

"Libraries are free," Jesse says. "I read up when I got nothin' else to do." Then, of course, he tries to hit Gabriel with the spell he's been charging up since he spoke.

**

He can see it sometimes: the look in Jesse's eyes, the way he holds his strike sometimes, not quite hesitating - Gabriel wants hesitation, and he doesn't, because that determination is what makes Jesse most dangerous - but definitely drawing out the moment before it's violence and pain.

Jesse kills him a few times, forces him to split and reform, but he never quite manages to close in on sacred ground.

**

"Hey, now," Jesse coughs, dripping water.

"Shut up," Gabriel says, dropping him.

"Yeah, but you done saved my life," Jesse says after coughing up more of the river. "Don't think I can go payin' it back," he adds later, as his breathing evens and water stains further over the boards from his soggy clothes. "I got the job, an' you're a vampire."

Gabriel kicks him. Kicking's okay. "Ingrate."

Jesse rolls away, coughing. "I said, I can't pay it back! A vampire's a vampire. You'll just make more." Jesse can't accuse him of putting Jesse in danger just to save him, because he did that his own damn fool self.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Course." Jesse tips his hat. "But I can't have that. My job is less vampires, not more."

Gabriel throws him in the river again, but a slower part of it this time.

**

Jesse has purity of purpose. He can't be reasoned with, bought off, or have his sympathies used against him.

In other words, he's a native son with purity (or close enough) of heart. He could do it. It would be a damned good idea to do it now, because Gabriel has one arm and this is a _church_ cemetery, this is sacred ground, and Jesse's hands are scrabbling uselessly over Gabriel's wrist and jaw, no time like the present.

Gabriel watches his eyes roll back and close. Listens to his captive pulse struggle, take the turn towards failing. Listens to it slow. Drops him, listens to the whoosh of air as his chest rises.

Leaves him.

**

"Oh," Jesse says, "come the fuck on!"

"Not delirious," Gabriel says. "That's a start."

"Have you been _feeding me_?" Jesse struggles to an elbow.

"I've been doing that," Jack says. "Hello. You're in my house, so don't try to kill Gabriel. While you're here. I understand how it is the rest of the time."

Gabriel reaches over and bumps knuckles with Jack. Jesse collapses back in the pillows with a groan.

Jack will not be letting Jesse chase after him until he's in shape to be thrown off a bridge or smashed into a road, so Gabriel has plenty of time to track down another old friend. At this rate, he'll have the continents covered by the end of the year.

**

"You're sulking," Gabriel says, and is gratified by Jesse screaming like a girl and throwing a book at him. Gabriel catches it. "This is a library," he adds when Jesse is still pointing a crossbow at him two seconds later. "It is not sacred. Put it away." They both wave at the librarian when she shows up. She shakes her head, but it's five minutes to closing anyway.

""Y'ain't supposed to be chasin' me," Jesse says. His heart is still accelerated.

"It's been six months," Gabriel says. "I thought you were dead."

"Took another contract." Jesse coughs. "Ain't dead." Gabriel nods. "Hey!" Jesse yells at his back.

"What?"

"Can afford you in two more hunts," Jesse says. "Got a plan."

**

Jesse's plan is a tank.

Gabriel is concerned: he might be in love.

**

The bell tower railing is cracking behind Gabriel's back. Jesse might fall with him. The hunter doesn't care, a wildness to his eyes and teeth in his smile. He's so goddamned beautiful.

"So," he says, heel of his hand against the wooden stake, it's lodged under Gabriel's armor and one hard slam should do it, "what's the third one?"

"Fuck you," Gabriel says.

"No, really, is this it?" There's something darkening the edges of his smile, but that resolve, shiny as a new bullet's casing and harder than diamond, stays.

"Give me one thing, and I'll tell you," Gabriel says. He reaches up slowly, grabs Jesse's face.

"Snack for the road? Do it, motherfucker, I'll drop us both on your head-"

Gabriel leans up. It's not what he'd do if he were alive, not at first. It's a taste of his lip, feeling the warmth of his breath, the vessels so close under the membrane. Jesse freezes. A tiny scrape of his fangs, not enough to draw blood, just enough to leave a thin welt. Then he kisses him. If Jesse panics and stakes him it's the last thing he'll do, so he damn well makes it good. Jesse does not panic and stake him. When he lets go, Jesse's eyes are huge, breath soft and warm. His palm beats his pulse against Gabriel's ribs, under the freed end of the stake. Gabriel has successfully tied Jesse's purpose into a knot. The victories he takes, these day-

The railing, which has been groaning throughout this, shatters. Gabriel grabs the floor with one hand and Jesse's arm with the other, swinging him until Jesse can grab the bell rope. Jesse climbs down, hand over hand, down the thick rope. Gabriel follows down the outside of the wooden steps. He stops two floors above the ground. Jesse reaches for his pistol.

"I don't think so," Gabriel says, and watches Jesse freeze at the change in his voice. He's been hunted long enough. "Run." 

If McCree doesn't want to be turned this time, he supposes he can let him earn back the hunter's role. 

Eventually.


	11. Unrelenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I cannot find the prompt! Something something hunters something something vampires? Something something Gabriel trying to fight the infection, and Jesse trying to help him. 
> 
> Warnings for, uh... I don't know, I just feel like there should be warnings. Warnings for unease and tension.

Gabriel loses Jack to a group of cultists somewhere on the border.

He's shot, he can't help it, he has to pull back and wait for Amari and her curse-removal kit and her lovely supply of healing magic.

He hunts for a year and finds no sign of him.

Two years later, he sees glowing blue eyes watching him from the jungle.

Three years later, the bodies start turning up, with icons of the angel Gabriel tucked in their hands.

Gabriel unfolds one, and ash falls out. He studies the texture. It's from a careless finger as the vampire was tucking the holy symbol into place, and he knows.

He tracks the activity far south, into the depths of the rainforests. His new partner refuses to let him go alone. Angela comes too. If there's vampires, she comes along, since Ana can handle all the lesser curses alone. Mercy is needed if someone picks up an unholy, vampire-grade crawling infection spreading through their bodies. Common sense.

**

He knows he's fucking up.

Gabriel runs through the maze. Jack is somewhere just out of reach, and he can't stop looking. Calling. His body burns like he's been running all night, he's sucking air like he's that green recruit who's never even heard of SEP, he's thirsty to the point where if there were a trickle of water across the path, he'd drop to his knees.

He's not sure what's outside the maze. He's not sure what it's made of; that could be stone under his feet, or concrete, or clay. He just knows it's flying by.

He just knows he's thirsty enough that he's not sure he's not dying from it.

"Gabriel, Gabriel," Jack is shouting. No. Whispering. Gabriel's - not collapsing, he collapsed a long time ago, there was no maze, there's just the rippled orange-brown of Jack's new coat under him. He's got his head in Jack's lap, lying over the cold metal floor and shaking so hard that his hand hurts when his knuckles hit the floor. Jack's face is bloody. That's...

That's probably all his.

He reaches up a shaking hand to shove Jack away. Jack's eyes are beautiful, blue, glowing, and he laces his fingers with Gabriel's. Gabriel isn't sure he's misunderstanding on purpose.

"I knew you'd come for me," Jack says, smiling, tracing the corner of his mouth (his finger is sliding too slickly, oh god, Gabriel's already taken _blood._ ) "I knew you would. Thank you, Gabriel. Thank you so much." A kiss, iron, copper, and Gabriel is trying to chase him up as he draws back. Gabriel collapses onto Jack's legs. Jack gives a little, amused grunt. "Bring your new little friend, Gabe. We're going to need everything we can get."

Gabriel can't sit up. His body's just been hit with a fucking _train_ of the blackest of magic, he thinks Jack could probably kill him with another goddamn drop.

Jack won't. Jack knows he won't be done fighting for a long time. They both know how messy that will get if he doesn't have any weakness holding him back. Gabriel fights to pull away from the vampire. It sparks myriad stars through his vision.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is blue-glowing eyes.

**

He can hear panic. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck."

Oh good. Jesse's found him.

"Oh _fuck.”_

And maybe he'll be useful in a goddamn hour or so-

Jesse pulls him upright, and Gabriel passes out again.

**

He wakes up because his skin's burning. Jesse's gotten him outside. Ana and her curse-removal kit are far, far away. Jesse's pulling his shirt off. The sun is reddening his skin; it feels like it's starting to dry and peel already.

He knows it's the right thing to do. Sunlight will sap the vampire's power, and make it easier for him to fight. Human blood will exponentially feed it. He'll be stronger, sure, but he'll break under its demands faster. "Mercy?" Mercy could take the curse off, given time and a safe place to work. But Mercy isn't helping right now. Jack would have planned to stop her from undoing his work, long before he even thought about how to take down Gabriel.

"I had to send her downriver," Jesse says. "I don't think she can get back up to us. He summoned two goddamn dogs." Death hounds. Not dogs. His arms are sporting bandages, and Gabriel can see at a glance that he's down half his bullets. Fuck. "We've got to-"

Gabriel grabs his chin. He can feel Jesse's pulse beat against his fingertips. Brown eyes dart up to meet his. Jesse's fingers curl around the butt of his pistol. "Gabriel?"

Gabriel turns Jesse's head.

The guardian is glowing faintly in the shadows of the rainforest. They can see algae-covered bone. It looks like Jack raised some kind of deer. They both know better than to approach it. Gabriel fixes his gaze on the creature, although Jesse's neck is exposed with his head turned like that (he's more aware of the thirsty ache down his throat.)

"We gotta get moving," Gabriel says hoarsely. The damn things are slow but inevitable. Jesse swears. He's twenty, not quite as muscular as Gabriel (as hard as he tries) but strong enough to take Gabriel's weight in a fireman's carry. Gabriel just hangs, miserably, waiting for any strength to come back.  

Jesse doesn't complain, although eventually he has to put him down to rest. They both look up the slope. They can see a spot of wilt in the distance, where they left the thing.

It will be along soon. It will move faster at night.

**

Jesse pulls leeches off his legs, throwing them up high onto the bank. He is obviously exhausted. Gabriel reaches out towards a trickle of red running down his leg. Jesse slaps his hand down.

"Gonna be dark soon," he says from his mosquito cloud. They've stopped gathering around Gabriel. "Pull it the fuck together, I can't do this alone."

"Sorry." Gabriel looks around. He's lost his pack, of course. He lost it when Jack jumped him, back in the... that building had been too new to be a temple. Was it a mine that the coven that took Jack had made fancier? Who had turned Jack? Clearly someone that was throwing Jack out alone. Or someone had turned Jack, died, left him to his own plans. He's being stared at. He's about to get defensive, but it's not suspicion, just confusion. Gabriel realizes he's never apologized to Jesse before. Which is kind of fucked up. "I shouldn't have gotten you into this."

Jesse snorts eloquently and flings the next leech further. He stretches, reapplies bug spray. It does nto really lighten the mosquito cloud, but at least they start landing on him only by dumb luck. "Okay. C'mon."

Gabriel pushes the hem of his shorts up and pulls the small leech away. It stretches long and elastic before snapping free, flipping a little drop of blood and water up over his thumb. Gabriel flips it into the greenery. Jesse runs a hand around his legs on both sides. Gabriel puts his hands down by his sides, wrapping them around the bark of the tree he's sitting on. He shouldn't feed it, not in any way. He should fight it harder.

Jesse drinks water from his canteen, a little trickle running down the side of his scruffy face. He wipes it away (Gabriel can hear the rasp of the start of his beard) and pants. Gabriel swallows. Jesse sees it and passes the canteen. Gabriel takes it awkwardly, right-handed, and drinks a few gulps just to satisfy both of them that water will still do.

He starts to tip it over his other hand. No. Clean water's too precious, they lost his filter and they've only got Jesse's, they shouldn't waste any. He'll wash it in the stream. He passes it back.

"Okay," Jesse says. "We go down two bends of the stream until we're where the other one meets. I dig us a little trench, cover us on three sides by moving water. It won't do shit if he decides we should play with the fucking hounds again, but it will keep the deer bitch off us and it should keep the asshole on the other side of the water."

"Jack."

"What?"

"That was Jack," he says.

"Oh, fuck," says Jesse. Gabriel can see him start to panic, can see him fight it off. "So he knows..."

 _What we'll do_ Gabriel hears.

"He knows how I think," Gabriel says. "You're an unknown." He hesitates. "Jesse. You need to leave me and go down the river."

"The fuck I do."

"I'm a danger to you," Gabriel says. His hands are shaking. He keeps them where they are. "I can't help it."

"If Reinhardt was able to hold out for seven fucking days, you can handle it," Jesse says. "We got him freed, we got him back. I'm not leaving your dumb ass in the middle of the jungle with some asshole who thinks a deer is a great death ward, even if it _was_ Jack." He reaches a hand out. Gabriel shakes his head, and gets to his feet. Jesse smiles and turns away, picking up his pack. Gabriel moves on slow feet to put his hand in the water.

He doesn't get there. His mistake is that he looks to be sure it hasn't dripped off. It's shining and red and he's already lost, brings his hand to his mouth and flicks his tongue out. It's iron and salt and somehow he can taste Jesse, which is creepy and sounds sexual when he thinks it, but it's true: Jesse's voice and the smell of him and the light in his eyes are all flicking through Gabriel's mind. He can feel the vampire's curse calm as it seizes on that little taste of untainted life. Settle patiently like a snake coiling through his ribs, waiting for more.  His strength rushes back to him. It's an illusion. It's because he gave ground, like how water in a narrower glass seems on a higher level. 

He just fucked up, he knows.

He just fucked up _bad._

He moves into a patch of sun. It burns, but it doesn't hurt now.

Fuck.

**

Jesse notices when he's halfway done digging. The light's fading, and the deer-thing is moving faster in the jungle. Gabriel watches the running water swirl up from the soaked ground as Jesse digs.

"You okay?"

Gabriel's tearing up handfuls of grass and roots, trying to break through to the dirt below so Jesse has a clear line to cut through. "Yeah."

"Bullshit. What's going on?"

"It's fast." Gabriel sees something dark on Jesse's shoulder and swats it. It's a biting fly, and there's blood on Jesse's skin. _Fuck._ He swallows. The rainforest, where there's a thousand tiny parasites after Jesse's blood and two fucking huge ones.

"He gave you human blood, didn't he?" Jesse stabs the trowel into the earth like he's staking Jack in the heart. Gabriel winces.

"We were friends," he says, and it's not a lie but it's sure as hell a misdirection, a misplacing of blame; Jack might have let him keep his rope, but he didn't hand him any new lengths. Gabriel's done this himself.

"Can you take watch?" Jesse asks when they're on a tiny, pathetically carved island, and Gabriel nods. He takes the trowel and starts deepening the trench. The running water is still friendly to him.

Jesse snores softly. He's tired, sure, but he's -

He can see glowing blue eyes in the rainforest.

He flips them off. Jack leaves him alone.

He's pretty sure Jack is still there when he goes to wake Jesse. The thin jungle blanket is plastered to his skin, and his mouth is hanging open. He's drooling. It's refreshing to have Jesse be kind of gross instead of being more pleasantly vulnerable than when he's awake. Gabriel reaches out to shake him awake, and hesitates. He can see scabs and scratches on Jesse's shoulders in the moonlight. It'd be hardly any work to open one.

He does not trust his hand a millimeter closer. "Jess. Jesse, c'mon. Jesse, wake up, I gotta sleep."

Jesse complains his way to awakeness, then sits up. "Oh, shit, sorry. I got watch."

He wakes up near dawn to gunfire. Jesse saw Jack's eyes and had to take a shot. Of course, even Jesse missed. Jack knows how fast Jesse is, and would have moved as soon as he showed himself.

But they're down a bullet.

Fuck.

**

He knew it would happen. If you indulged the bloodlust to any degree, you'd get a massive fucking backlash as the curse punished you for more.

He can't walk. He convulses so hard Jesse has to drop him. The rain, it's a fucking rainforest, it rains every day, slams them. It's a sensory overload. He just wants to crawl under a plant and stay there. He knows the deer-thing is getting closer. He can hear a hound snapping and mock-barking in the distance, Jack's probably in a little cave nearby, or the dug-out trunk of a forest giant. Either way, he has summoned the damn thing just so they can hear it chase sticks and small things for him.

"Please," Jesse's finally just begging, "please, Gabriel, I can't leave you."

Gabriel looks up. He can see the deer again as the rain slows. They must have been here for over an hour.

"Let me _help,_ " Jesse says, and when he looks up, Jesse is staring at the deer-thing and has a knife in his hand. For a minute, Gabriel thinks that he's actually going to go over there and try to teach it a thing or two with the goddamn blade. Then he realizes.

"No," he says. "Worse tomorrow."

"It's going to drag you back to him," Jesse says.

It won't, but it might maim him and leave the onset of vampirism to heal him, which will just seal him harder into it. Maybe as much as drinking Jesse's-

The thought actually hits. He shouldn't have started thinking it, because now he can't stop, now he just wants. He wants it so badly he wonders if Jack can follow the thread of connection to him, can feel it too. He shakes his head, but he knows it's all over his face, knows it's in his body language as he leans.

Jesse shoves his sleeve up further and sets the blade against his bicep. He brings the blade away. For a minute, Gabriel thinks he's just kidding, he didn't go through with it. Then Jesse folds his arm and points of red spring up and grow together in a line.

Gabriel is on him immediately. Slams him down ( _sorry_ part of his brain goes, but it never reaches his lips.) Skin between his teeth, and Jesse yelps and punches him in the side of the head. Gabriel lets go. Backs up. Swallows. Just licks. This is awkward and shameless and somehow the dirtiest he's ever felt, just with Jesse's body pinned under his, Jesse's clothes plastered tight by sweat and rainwater.

"Enough," Jesse says, running fingers into his hair. Gabriel blinks. Pulls his head back. _Jesse_ still a taste in his mouth, Jesse still right under him. Two places at once, and touching him. Gabriel grabs Jesse's hair and kisses him. There's movement against him, under him, and Gabriel rolls his hips before Jesse starts smacking him on the side of the head. Gabriel lets go to snarl at him. Actually snarl, the sound tearing up out of his chest and through his throat.

"Place! Time! Deer!" Jesse says. "An' knock that the fuck off before I kick a boot up your ass."

Gabriel pulls himself up. He feels fine, again, feels absolutely perfect, and he knows that's a lie even as he grabs Jesse's hand and helps him up.

This time, he carries Jesse for a few hours, because he can run that way.

**

They have to use fire as their second wall. The place where the streams meet is a right angle, they'll never dig an island in time. Gabriel hopes it doesn't rain during the night.

Jack comes and sits quietly on the other side of the fire while he's thinking. Gabriel deliberately feeds it with another stick.

"I didn't see it before," Jack speaks first, "but I can see why you like him."

"Fuck off."

"That will just be harder," Jack says. "You know you're going to find me." He looks around. "You'll know where I am. You'll be drawn. It must be how birds feel when they start south." He shrugs. "Kind of fun."

"Who killed you?"

"Doesn't matter. She's dead." Jack sits quietly, perfectly still. "I miss her. You know, I didn't send anything nasty downstream after Angie, just for her. She used to be a big fan of Angie's work."

"We can't lose me," Gabriel says. "We can't lose Jesse. You know how few of us there are, and how much is out there."    

"I know," says Jack. "I stayed away for as long as I can. But it turns out, I can't _do_ this alone. I don't have anyone I trust."

Gabriel just looks at him. They haven't seen anyone, but he remembers a group took Jack, and he can see now that Jack doesn't look desperate at all, hasn't even given Jesse another glance. He's just sitting. Jack's got rations packed along with him. Probably willing ones. A vampire cooperating with a group makes a goddamn cult, and Jack's charisma has always been magnetic.

"That I trust," Jack says again, almost mocking. He glances at Jesse. Holds up a hand in warning. Minutes slide by. Eventually, Jesse snores. Gabriel feels a tiny smile tug at his lips.

"Please," Jack says, that earnest farm boy again. "Just... help me out." He frowns. "How much of his blood did you take? Cause I've got to say, you've got some ragged-ass energy fighting in you."

"Doesn't matter."

"Does if you kill him during the day," Jack says, and while Gabriel still feels like the wind's been knocked out of him, Jack lifts his wrist to his mouth and bites. Jesse can hear the skin give, can hear the soft, sliding cut. Blood patters onto the leaves as Jack lets go and hisses in the fire as Jack holds his wrist across.

Gabriel can hear the soft, high sear of his skin as he reaches too quickly, passing his hand up through the flame, grabbing, pulling Jack towards him. He'd like to say he's intentionally burning him, but the best he can do is not reach down and sweep the coals aside. He just latches on like he's been given a lifeline. Jack's blood doesn't taste like Jack, there's too much power in the way; there's just the scents of metal and a darker, earth-toned power that settles down into Gabriel and spikes through his mind -

The bullet slams Jack right above the ear. He falls in a flare of blue. Twists near-bonelessly, the air around his body blurring with bluish-white glow. And then he's gone. Gabriel is left with blood on his chin and his arms burned bare of hair.

"The fuck," Jesse snarls. "The fuck! Why didn't you wake me up!" He kicks Gabriel in the ribs. "We could have had him! We-" he realizes what he's seeing. "Oh, god."

"You leave me in the morning," Gabriel says, slumped over. Staring down.

"We're nearly there," Jesse says. "We're nearly fucking there." There are tears on his face when Gabriel looks up. "Don't do this to me."

Gabriel reaches out. Jesse falls against him. It's a fucking _idiot_ move, he could - but he knows he won't. He grabs Jesse's hand on the gun and guides it up to rest under his chin. Jesse irritably jerks his hand to one side, finger already outside the trigger guard.

"What did he say?" Jesse asks near dawn.

"Hunh?"

"What in fuck did he say that would make you pour gasoline on your fire? I can see you fightin' it in the day. I know you ain't stupid."

"He said I'd hurt you more without it."

"It's not how much," Jesse says. "It's when. Stop lettin' him knock time off the clock."

It's impossible to argue with that one, not with the hunger starting to itch the back of his throat.

**

He takes the lead during the day. It's just like old times. Except that he slows them down.

It doesn't matter. Jesse's not getting in front of him, not where he can just see Jesse's back and Jesse can't watch him.

**

He watches Jesse pretend to sleep. He's fucked them both over so badly.

Jack doesn't come near them that night. He doesn't need to. Jesse's eyes stay on his face for a long, long moment when he wakes up. It's predawn. Jesse shouldn't be able to find his face that easily in the dimness.

That's how Gabriel knows the glow has started to kindle.

He wants Jesse, and he's not even sure how to separate it from what it used to be, a familiar, hormonal kind of itch. It's hunger and it's need and it's Jesse's smell and it's the way he breathes and it's his strong body and it's his courage and it's his stubbornness and-

And it's his blood. Shot through all of those, tying them together, leading Gabriel to him.

He takes the lead.

**

The deer-thing doesn't even try to stay close. It just hangs out in the trees occasionally. Jack is barely sparing the power to move its bones. Gabriel kind of thinks he actually could walk up and rip its head off, thinks the aura around it is carelessly hung, like a sweater tossed over a railing.  

He doesn't risk it, because his throat burns like fire, and if he stubs his toe he might tear Jesse up.

Jesse slips and falls on a rock, and Gabriel can actually hear the startled change in the air in his throat, hear something that is his heart jumping. Gabriel turns and catches him. He drops his head, mouth opening, and catches himself.

Jesse reaches up and pushes his lip back with one thumb. It's so careless it startles Gabriel back to himself. Jesse looks gray when he drops his hand again. Shit. Already that far advanced.

Gabriel tests his fang with his tongue, and the metal taste in his mouth is a deep comfort. When he needs them, they're ready.

When Jesse has to stop for a rest, Gabriel doesn't move when he's ready to go. Leans against a tree. Maybe Jesse will be smart. Maybe Jesse will just leave him.

"Don't," Jesse says. Gabriel swallows, and walks by him, and starts them off again.

**

They reach the dock.

There's no one in sight. The radio is smashed.

The deer-thing doesn't make an appearance, and there's not so much as a yelp from the hounds.

Jesse sobs in his arm. Gabriel keeps his face in the fold of his arm; his tears are bloody and he doesn't want them on Jesse's scalp. He's likely to have a cut or open bite somewhere in his hair.

**

Jesse's lost in a sleep deeper than dreams, pure exhaustion. Gabriel's sitting on the end of the dock. They smashed the boards to make a little island.

"The boat's not coming tomorrow," Jack says, smiling angelically in the moonlight. "I borrowed your radio, before I dropped it. There's been a delay. A problem with an engine part. That's coming on another boat. Captain likes to take his time, so I don't know when they'll be able to start up for you."

"I'll come with you." He knows it sounds like surrender, but he's actually beyond that. He can hear the air in Jesse's throat, the wash of every pulse through his veins. "Just have your friends take him to safety."

"You can help me across," Jack says. "I can give you enough blood to finish it." Gabriel can hear the tiny noise he makes at the thought. "There'll be two of us to turn him. It won't be anything like what you've gone through. Painless." Jack's voice is relentless as Gabriel brings his hands up to his head, but it drops conspiratorially. "He's been so good to you, I bet he'll like it."

Gabriel can hear truth. He drops his shaking hand down to the pistol. It's wrapped in Jesse's spare shirt, formless in the dark. If he shoots Jack, and tackles him into the river, there's a chance.

Jack's face is beautiful in the moonlight, pale, eyes shining bright. Gabriel's hand stops. Behind him, Jesse sighs softly in his sleep.

Jack looks down at his hand. Gabriel knows he knows about the gun. He knows Jack doesn't think it matters. Jack's smile is wide and friendly, just like when he was alive, except for the fangs.

Gabriel stands, hand sweeping up.


	12. Shifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hunter McCree, werewolf Gabe.
> 
> Original draft was violent; second draft ended up as the first moves of a long game.

"Ma'am," Jesse says, leaning close and using the band as cover, head by the guitar, "you best get that kid out'f here, an' you'd best do it now."

She looks up, eyes large and alert. Jesse's already turned away, dropping a couple of bills into the tip jar. He glances up, and the guitarist makes eye contact. His gaze slides down Jesse's body and up again. Jesse pretends not to have noticed.

The Deadlocks are restless. He's not a part of their fight, not really; he's just using them as his cover to get in the area. But that damned blond wolf hasn't shown, and he's pretty sure that he's already moved on.

The werewolf was tall and bipedal, which meant he was the infected second-generation spawn of a natural, four-legged shifter. Those passed on their... not-quite-curse to their offspring,  changed whenever the fuck they wanted, and usually were pretty aloof, pretty shy. Jesse wouldn't have any quarrel with them if they didn't infect people who wanted into the pack. The bipedal ones were a messier blend of the worlds. They changed at full moon, tended to be aggressive, predatory, fearless, often cannibalistic. 

Kind of a problem.

Blondie hasn't done more than chase a couple of cars, maybe the actions of a budding spree killer, maybe just idiot puppy shit from someone still learning his way around a new body. But he seems to have at least one friend, and that usually says a pack's on its way. Jesse's scouting, blending with the Deadlocks to find out where in their yearly shift they are. Blondie hasn't even fucking shown in months.

Which means Jesse's got nothing to do.

Which means he's jumpy and on the lookout for trouble.

Which means, when a couple of the Deadlocks start looking for a fight, he picks up on it right away.

He watches the woman go. There's an air around her like she's in charge of fucking _everything_. Mamas like that are great, he's glad the little girl's got her. There's something else about them that bothers him as he watches them go. He's not sure what it is... maybe the kid's bouncing, happy body language that goes slinky and furtive when her mama comes and puts an arm around her shoulder. Funny how her body language is that loud. Like -

"That was nice of you," says a voice in his ear. Jesse turns. The guitarist has stopped playing, the band is taking a break, and the guitarist is right behind him, broad-shouldered and hairy and leaning into his personal space, warm forearm coming to rest on his shoulders, weight pressing against his back. Jesse's eyes narrow. Sure, he doesn't really mind, but it's not every day people just _assume_ he won't mind shit like that. So he shrugs a couple of times. The man laughs, backing off a bare half-inch.

Something about that bugs him. Jesse turns. "What?" Jesse asks. Too much is off. Jesse gets up. He wasn't expecting to be just as tall as the man, even the shabby little stage made him look bigger. The man lifts a brow. He looks... Jesse's got an alarm bell ringing in the back of his head. He looks handsome, beard and brows trimmed, silver barbell through his left eyebrow, silver stud on the right side of his nose. He's rugged, he's muscular, it's actually a little hard to hear the alarm bells.

"Making sure the women and child were out of it," the man answers.

Jesse scowls. The Deadlocks are insane. They're shifters, gila monsters, the only interesting thing about them is the lock of their jaws once they bite; they shift only once a year, and mostly spend that time crawling in the desert, so Jesse's backers haven't put them on a high priority compared to the car-chasing blond asshole.

"She looked like she could handle them."

"Yeah," the man says. "She can. C'mon. I know a quieter place we can talk." He picks up his guitar case. Another musician has already emptied the tip jar and headed down the street.

Jesse feels like something's wrong, but it's not aggressively wrong, not dangerous. So he follows the man. He's distracting, moves with a predator's or a dancer's grace, and Jesse checks him over one more time for weapons. The man sees him looking, and the corners of his mouth lift.

Jesse knows he's being misunderstood, and badly. But fuck it.

Behind them, voices lift in anger, and glass shatters. Jesse rolls his eyes. The clouds part, and he looks up at the moon.

"Day away from full," he says.

"Supposed to be clear tomorrow," the man says. "Hoping we'll get some moonshadow so I don't break my neck going back and forth." He pauses. "What's your name?"

"Eric," Jesse answers.

"Eric." The man puts a hand out. "Miguel."

He shakes. He can feel the strength in his hands. Something about the flow of syllables, in that voice, hits the back of his memory. He hesitates, trying to place it. "Those hurt?" he asks to cover it, lifting his hand to gesture around his own face.

"Nah." Miguel takes his hand, thumb rubbing over Jesse's palm. Jesse turns his hand, glancing down. In the streetlight, Miguel's knuckles are smooth next to Jesse's roughened, darkened ones. Jesse's reassured: between them, he's the brawler. "It's just a thing. Lucky silver."

Silver. Reassuring, especially since he wasn't expecting to get close enough to touch anyone, so his silver ring is back at the hotel. The Deadlocks like to lift trinkets from him, or make him gamble them, and it's his last fucking one. "So," he says. "Miguel. Where're we goin'?"

"Where do you think?" Miguel snorts.

"Could be a lot of places."

"I'm not gonna eat you," Miguel says, "but if you want, we can go back and join the fight, could be fun."

"You're a bar brawler like I'm a butler."

"Guess we'll have to do something else," Miguel says, and kisses him.

**

The cabin's one of the better ones, private in the trees, built two-layer with the bedroom up in the attic and built over the cliff. The whole first floor is visible from the edge of the bedroom.

Not that Jesse spends much time looking at it.

"How's a guitarist afford a place like this?" he teases.

"I'm on vacation." Jesse undresses as he talks. The silver-plated knife is in its sheath at his back. He's able to covertly shed it with his jeans. Miguel smirks, taking it all as eagerness. Fair assessment, Jesse won't argue. Jesse glances him over as Miguel strips, looking for scars, in subtle and not-subtle ways. But no, his skin's perfect, which is actually a little odd, when Jesse thinks about it. A couple of faint marks here and there reassure him Miguel's had the normal childhood accidents. They look worn, old, healed to faint.

Miguel returns the favor, although he doesn't say anything about Jesse's scars. Even the obvious shotgun pellets. Or the claw marks. He steps in, tracing Jesse's body with his hands, pushing Jesse's hands still against the wall when he tries to return the favor. It's a lot more bossy than he expected, and Jesse has to think for a minute, clear his head and think if he's going to put up with this.

He's intense. But Jesse's been watching his own back and holding himself in perfect control. He's kind of needed something like this, one-night stand, no impact, no consequences, although Miguel's eyes are kind of intense, and he has a feeling he's kind of stepped into something bigger than he expected.

Miguel seems to get that Jesse's kind of deciding what he wants to do, and he rests one hand still on his hip. The other hand cups his jaw, lifts his chin. He trails his thumb down Jesse's throat. It's a firm touch, gentle and promising, and Jesse decides. Lifts his chin for it, head back. Miguel smiles at that, warm and wide, and firmly grabs his hair. Close to the scalp, careful not to pull too hard.

"No," Jesse says, twenty minutes later, to the handcuffs.

"Sure," he says, thirty minutes later, to the collar.

Something happened to Miguel's tongue, like a stud got torn out, but he still has one bead and the scar tissue doesn't impede his motion much. He's gentle about the collar, like he knows he's got darker tastes than Jesse and doesn't want to get too heavy on him. So Jesse plays it up, bowing his head for it, laying the side of his head on his thigh while Miguel works the buckle. It's wide, which is comforting. It feels like it'd be hard to choke off his breathing with it. But it feels like he'd take forever to cut out of it, even if it weren't heavy leather. Oddly, that makes him feel a little more secure. Miguel reaches behind him and grabs the loop, pulling him off to look at him. How much he obviously likes the look makes Jesse blush. Miguel snorts.

But the pressure on the front of his throat is making him feel like choking him is a possibility after all. "Don't tug on the back," he says. Miguel nods, eyes locked on Jesse's. He pulls the loop around to the front with a slow, heavy drag on Jesse's skin like he's rubbing it with his hand. Jesse tries to lean in to kiss him.

Miguel stops him with a flattened palm. "Leash okay on the front?" He wants this, Jesse can see in his eyes. He really wants this. The part of Jesse that always wants to please responds. 

"Sell me on it," Jesse says.

Ten minutes later, he's wearing it.

**

He wakes up because he has to piss. Miguel's sleeping, elegant and solid, and Jesse climbs around him and pads out of bed. The leash is a nuisance, but he can't unhook it easily in the dark, the damn thing's stiff, and he just loops it around his shoulders and goes. He casts a glance over the railing on his way back to bed.

The front door is open.

Jesse stands quietly by the railing. There's a cold draft on his skin, he wishes he had his clothes. They're down by the front door, except he's pretty sure that's his jeans, being dragged out.

He damn near pelts downstairs, but naked except collar and a leash is no way for a man to confront thieves stealing his pants. He moves back for the bedroom and bumps into Miguel.

"What's going on?" Miguel asks.

"Someone's stealing my pants."

Miguel is down the stairs like a dark, naked breeze, grabbing a blanket off the couch as he passes by it and draping it over his shoulders. Jesse watches him. He's just a patch of shadow in the early dimness. Miguel swings the door open. Something small and four-legged dances away. Miguel hooks the jeans over his foot, tosses them in, and pulls the door shut. The predawn light is gone, and Jesse blinks in the darkness. Miguel comes up the stairs and pushes Jesse's cold jeans into his chest. Jesse takes them. When he slides a hand around the back, his knife is gone. He's going to have to go down first and find it. Miguel's hand brushes his chest, and there's a tug on the collar.

"Pants thief dog?" Jesse asks, utterly confused.  

"Must not have closed it all the way," Miguel says, sounding completely un-surprised by pants thief dog.

"The fuck," says Jesse, who happens to know the door was shut, because his shoulders hit it.

Miguel snorts. There's a gentle, but steady, tug on the leash. "C'mon. I'm cold."

Total lie, Jesse realizes when he touches him, but Miguel lays them back down and slumps into sleep again. Jesse's pretty damn tired, too, he can catch a couple more hours without it hurting anything.

**

He wakes up to the sunlight on Miguel's broad shoulders. The blanket's on him alone; Miguel's kicked the blanket off, bare to his toes. Jesse smiles at his back, at his unscarred skin.

Hold it.

Jesse remembers a lot about Miguel's shoulders. He lifts his hand and turns it over. Yeah, blood dried under his nails. ( _Go ahead, do your worst_ Miguel dares in his memory when Jesse realizes he's drawing blood. Miguel makes him.) He looks again at that perfect skin. Reaches up to the collar. The leather's stiff, it's hard to get it, and he leaves it in case the leather creaks or something. Silver piercings, Jesse's ass - that's platinum, all of it. Jesse sits up and looks around.

In daylight, he can see that's a black, knit beanie on the shelf across the room. _Shit._ They weren't able to get anything better than a couple of pictures of the two shifting, blurry shoulders, and the back of a head with a beanie on it, and a beanie between two fluffy back ears. Hilarious then, not now. ( _Gabriel_ he remembers hearing on the recording when their agent tried to make contact, but he'd tipped them off, somehow.) The lady with the kid must have been the alpha bitch and her born-to-it cub. Her jeans-stealing cub that knew how doors worked, even in wolf form, and must have been creeped out by the smell of silver. Well, fuck. No wonder he wasn't able to find the blond man. They knew he was looking.

 Full moon was tonight. Gabriel could probably shift, right fucking now. No point trying to climb over him, it'd just wake him up. Jesse slid towards the foot of the bed.

"Scents can be louder than words," Gabriel says. "Morning, Eric." The tone changes just enough on the last word that it's obvious he caught the lie. He sits up, slow, like he's trying not to be threatening.

"Morning," says Jesse.

"C'mere." Gabriel tips his head. His eyes are very blank. "I can get that off." Jesse shakes his head, putting both hands to it this time. (The stiffness of the metal spring holding the leash in place, the thickness and resistance of the leather - is he wearing the shit that freshly infected get, to keep them from taking off and eating someone?) He gets the collar off and drops it. Stands up, backs away, glancing to be sure he's headed for his jeans. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You should have said."

"I wasn't totally sure it was you," Gabriel says, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms.

"Silver knife. You had to smell it."

"I could smell silver. I could smell knife. I said, I wasn't sure." Gabriel's watching him like a hawk. "What was I going to do? Pat you down?"

Jesse steps into his jeans. His shit's probably back at the hotel. He's isolated in the cabin, nobody would hear it if the werewolf came after him. He can put up a hell of a fight bare-handed, but a werewolf's a werewolf and the full moon's tonight. "What's the game?" Gabriel smirks. "Fuck you, no. What's the idea?"

"Saw you. Liked you." Jesse knows there's more to it than that. He casts around for possibilities, he lays out what he knows. It's obvious once he lines it up right: he's a good candidate for a growing little pack because he knows all about hunters. He's also self-isolated. Gabriel could probably smell the loneliness. He knows he smells like Gabriel now, and that makes him blush. Gabriel's head cocks in interest. Jesse flips him off and turns for the door, kicking himself for how badly he missed this one. If Gabriel weren't looking to recruit a hunter, were looking to protect his pack, Jesse could have died.

He stops at the door. "-did she bite your _tongue?_ "

"It was my idea," Gabriel answers.

"Never mind."  He goes down the stairs. Collects his shirt from the coffee table and his underwear from under the little table by the door. Steps into his boots without bothering with his socks. When he opens the door, there's a tall, blond man there who blinks, makes a little sneezing sound, and steps back. Jesse flips him off and heads down the path.

When he looks back once, Gabriel's standing in the door, one shoulder leaned against it, still naked. Jesse doesn't look back again.

Werewolves.


	13. Psychosomatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STILL VAMPIRES.

"Ana, hunh?" Jesse asks. "That's a pretty name."

"It is a common name," she says. He could point out that after the little accident where a lot of the world's population flat-out died, all names are less common, but she's in no mood for that and neither is he. "Do not trifle with me. I am here to protect the ones I love."

Jesse nods. She's actually on the do-not-touch list, but that's going to freak her out if he tells her about it. Since he isn't going to shoot her, it doesn't matter worth shit which of them is a faster draw. But her hand is hovering over her pistol. He'd rather not get shot with whatever's in that needle gun. "Tell you what," he says. "I don't want much for me. But I'm lookin' out for someone I care about too." It's a little more complicated than that, the only thing he can survive on is Gabriel's blood. But it's true enough. He sees her eyes flick around, looking for the less-human monster. "So I'll trade you. Be happy to trade, fuel for blood. You can be on your way, and I'll stay right here."

"Smile," she says curtly, and he does, shows off his fangs. She sighs, short, sharp. "You're just the face."

"I am." Ana knows his voice. Besides a few traits that never change, Jesse can look like whoever he wants. Right now, he looks like a Blackwatch agent he never liked, and he is doing his damnedest to flatten out his drawl and sound like he's from fucking Boston or somewhere.

"I want to deal with your master."

"He's indisposed," Jesse says shortly, "I got a mind of my own. I'm the best person to talk to, just about now." Huge mistake, but she's doing that thing they do sometimes, when they act like the face is just a puppet instead of a half of a... vampire duo? Jesse doesn't like thinking about it. After all, it seems to be that if Jesse dies, another face can be chosen, but Jesse can't replace his body. 

"A face is not a person." It's startling to hear that from Ana Amari to Jesse McCree, but he shows nothing. He just curls his lip at her, showing the fang again, and snorts. "How many of you are there?" she continues.

"You're making this so much harder than it has to be," he says. "I got fuel, I want blood, I got no reason to hurt anyone. Couple pints, from a couple people, will get you enough gallons to go."

"Fine," she says, after a long time thinking about it.

He's careful. He leads her to the fuel and stays way the hell back. He can feel her eyes on his back when he leaves.

**

Two bottles go to Jack, who takes them silently. It's Jesse's trade and he could have cut him out. Jesse wouldn't do that to them. Jack can't drink them, but he needs them to offer.

Two bottles go with Jesse. He walks through the decaying, overgrown garden, all the way to the well at the back. It stretches down straight, deep, dark, and Jesse pours both bottles in without hesitation. Blackness billows up like smoke and forms into Gabriel. He steadies himself on Jesse's shoulder and breathes a sigh of deep relief.

"Jesse," he says, simply, and Jesse falls into his arms. Eventually, Gabriel tips his head back, more command than invitation, and Jesse feeds on the only thing that will sustain him.

**

The brief touch of life is enough to interest Gabriel in the world again. He doesn't reform himself after that, stays a roiling mass of mist and claws, but the garden returns to life.

**

Seasons pass. They are trapped far out of the normal lines of traffic, and eventually Gabriel can't stay together, eventually he shuts down to save power and leaves Jesse on the surface. The duality of a vampire is face and body; Gabriel is capable of a thousand times more power than Jesse can contain, and setting foot in his garden uninvited is a death sentence.

But Jesse always looks almost-human, no matter how bad it gets, never gets tired or needs to sleep, and has the power to calm people down.

Jesse and Jack hang out frequently. They never talk about how their bodies are doing; it's too painful.

**

When the experiment happened, when its aftereffects shook the world and the bodies became bodies, they accidentally killed most of the lives near them in a sudden, uncontrollable absorption. They were unaware of what they were doing, they were unaware that they were killing, they were unaware they were anchoring themselves to one place. The one person they were looking for in their panic became their face. Whether they sought that person for comfort, for protection, or to be protected, it didn't matter; the fact that they cared, in some way, made the connection. Locked them together in immortality.

Most people did not become bodies. No one has been able to determine why some did. Winston, the one person that Jesse thinks could answer it, has not replied from Gibraltar. There is no pattern Jesse can see in the few he knows about. As for face and body... all Jesse can say is that it doesn't have to be romantic love. It just has to be love.

**

"Maybe I should just let her sleep," Jack says.

The raiders were looking for a place to set up with their captives. They picked the base. They discovered their error. Jesse's negotiated with the captives to stay another week, and give blood before they leave. He's pretty sure they'll hold to it, since they were freed, fed with the last of the base's stores, and given guns.

The captives are suspicious that Jack and Jesse will try to keep all their blood when the week is up. Jesse and Jack have no intention of going back on the deal. They want this to be seen as a safe retreat. 

"I wouldn't blame you," says Jesse. "But you'll be miserable." The face, after all, needs the strength of the body. Jesse is feeling drawn and tired with Gabriel's constant hibernation.

Speaking of which...

He grabs the back of the raider's collar. "Better get this over with," he says, flicking his fingers. "Easier for me," he adds as Jack sighs and starts collecting buckets. "Gabriel can put up with a dead body or two."

He buries the body in the garden while Gabriel takes a nice walk, tracing the exact radius of his prison, trailing plumes of smoke and mist.

**

"We can go out there," Jesse says, as they watch lights drive by.

"Shut up," says Jack.

Jesse didn't necessarily mean come back with a _whole_ person, all they need is a couple needles, some tubing, and a bottle, but he shuts up. Jack's right. You can't start down some roads.

**

"Well, hello," Jesse says. _If it ain't_ flutters to his lips and stays behind them. "Ana, right?"

"Right."

"You came alone this time." He's concerned that she's back. It all happened while she was out on a mission. It would be much better if she didn't try to hang on, too.

"I'm confused," she says. "You look like the same man that was here last time..."

"That I do," he finally cues. He can see the suspicion in her eyes. He picked that carelessly.

"I ran into him just the other day," she says. "So you're not him. Show me your own face."

Damn it. He buried the corpses left littered around the base. There was a body outside on the grounds, there was a body in the base, when they anchored they wiped out everyone but the two faces. Jesse and Jack buried all the others with their own hands. He sees their faces in his dreams, he should have picked one of those. "You're the one that said I'm not a person," he reminds her.

"It is difficult," she says quietly. "I may... I may have... how many bodies are here?"

"Don't do this to yourself," he says. "You told yourself we're dead. We're dead."

"You are very restless ghosts," she says softly.

"Get back to the people who need you," Jesse says.

He has a very bad feeling about it, as he watches her go.

**

The freed prisoners come back to use their generators and solar collectors. Jesse and Jack don't mind a bit. They let them use the long-abandoned kitchen. Jesse gets them edible plants from the garden.

After they're gone, leaving a couple of bottles, he wakes up Gabriel again. The taste of his blood is changing; its color has been blacker than tar for a while, now, and it tastes like the richness of the earth. Jesse feeds until Gabriel laughs and sinks him to his neck in the ground.

An origami bunny hops into his room later in the day, and he knows Jack's body has been fed and is lonely now. He picks it up and goes to help Jack keep her company.

**

Ana walks up while Jack is wearing the first face he thought of, the one he sees daily or nightly: McCree's. 

"Howdy, ma'am," Jack tries after an awkward second of furious thinking.

"Hello, Jack," she says, and starts asking her questions without the slightest pause for him to regroup. 

"I tried looking like you, but she knew me as soon as I opened my mouth. I told her it was Angela," Jack says to Jesse, later. "I don't think she believed me."

There is no blood.

**

The former prisoners are traders now, and they use the base as a key stop on their route. Jesse and Jack teach their bodyguards to be better shots, faster fighters. Jack has told them about the topmost room, and Jesse has told them about the garden.

The donations are rich enough that Gabriel's blood begins to redden again. He winds vines around Jesse's ankles and wrists, and shares himself.

**

Ana comes back in bright midday. Jesse watches her come. He is not surprised, not at all. It's dangerous, it would be safer if she left and mourned, but he has no right to stop her.

"I met Mercy," she says.

"Yeah?"

"Jesse," she says, and he can hear a breaking in her voice, "Jack would not have become a symbiotic whatever-you-are with just anyone. It would have to be someone who really trusted him to help. Someone who knew he would, because he promised. Someone who had no one else." Jesse feels his disguise flow to what he used to look like, just like in life. Her eyes widen as she knows she has shaken his emotions. "Was it you?"

"No," he says. "You got me right, I'm a face. Gabriel came to meet me."

"Take me to Jack," she says softly. "Take me to her."

Jack hears them coming through the base.  He silently walks with them. The topmost room was the guest's room. A coloring book still lies on the desk, although one wall is open to the elements and the toys scattered around the room are faded (again, Jesse has seen them replenished and faded as often as Gabriel's garden goes to shit and returns.) The toybox stands open, darkness in it as if its mouth yawns into a pit.

Ana snatches a dart off her belt, smashes it against the wall, and uses the needle to pour some of her blood in a little toy teacup. Jack pours it into the toybox. Fareeha climbs out. She looks almost fully human, and Jesse hopes Ana's able to overlook the signs. Fareeha gives a joyous little squeal, and stretches out her arms. Ana snatches her up, face pressed against a small shoulder, eyes closed against the thorns growing in Fareeha's hair.

Jack and Jesse share a look. Then they both stand ready, in case they need to try to intervene. The body is too powerful sometimes. When it is caught up in emotion, bad things can happen to the space that it has become a part of. Fareeha is little, innocent, doesn't know what she's capable of. 

(There will be nothing they can do, they both know.)


	14. Ice/Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FUCK YEAH DUAL PROMPTS:
> 
> 1\. something from Blackwatch era, Gabriel being surprised and oddly turned on by some unexpected bit of brutal violence from McCree?  
> 2\. Gabe and Jesse showers/bathe together - Like, just a shared moment of comfort / intimacy
> 
> And of course, partly inspired by this introspection into... extrospection!
> 
> http://quorgi.tumblr.com/post/151741417864/people-keep-asking-me-what-do-you-think-the-spur

It's kind of humiliating.

Not the part where he's captured. He let himself be captured, because they had about twice the numbers that his team expected and far better detection. He went out in the wintry open with his hands up when he realized how badly his agents were caught out. They stopped chasing down his scattered group when they realized who he was. They started panicking, and although they switched their treatment of him to try to slow down an escape, they've been scared to kill him or torture him. Watching them figure out what to do with Gabriel Reyes is one _hell_ of a lot more entertaining than waiting for them to start sending his agents back in pieces.

He's not really bothered by the part where he's naked. He's not _happy_ about it, but frankly it's part of the whole poor-treatment-when-captured thing. Same with the part where he's hanging from his wrists, weight on his toes, ankle-deep in water in the broken floor. They're trying to use cold to get to him. He's by the open freezers. He's been doused with cold water. The most recent was just a minute ago.

It's the shivering. SEP muscles are more efficient and stronger than human, so when he shivers it's convulsive and uncontrollable. They're waiting for him to weaken. They're getting spooked by how long it's taking. The downside of how much respect they have for him is that he's not breaking out of the chains and bars anytime soon. He's worried about the electric equipment set up on the edge of the water. If they alternate freezing with shock, even his stamina's going to wear fast. It looks like it's just there in case he tries to get away.

They're in, of all places, an abandoned resort. Financial difficulties and remote location doomed the place; when business began to dry up in the nearby city, the getaway crumbled. The hot springs are still hot, the cold water is still running from the tanks in the roofs (it smells of algae down here) and the place uses geothermal power, so the freezers are frosty and the lights, even the electric equipment, have enough energy for now.

He ducks his head and closes his eyes as they spray the hose over him again. They're arguing, but he can't really pick out their voices over the hiss of the hose and the clack of his teeth. He can tell that it's gotten quiet out there.

He nods to himself. The gesture gets dragged into another long shudder. When he gets fine muscle control back, when he gets out of the water... well, back in the day, he would just use his hands to disassemble Omnics. It's been a while since he's done that, what he's planning is close enough.  

The smoke bomb skips down the stairs and goes off.

There's total chaos. Gabriel hangs quietly, shivering and waiting. No one is throwing the electricity on him yet; the two with guns are backing away and aiming up the stairs. The others have stun rods and nets. The men with guns go down first to pistol shots.

Then, however, it gets a little more complicated. The second gas canister is a dud; it skips and bounces and doesn't spew knockout gas. So his agents have to actually come down. The one good thing about the cold spray still hanging around Gabriel is that it slows the smoke. He can hear bullets contest with body armor, gas masks rasp as labored lungs fight for air.

He knows Jesse by the pattern of lights on his breastplate. Jesse kicks an enemy into sight. The man splashes to steadiness just out of reach. Jesse reaches for the reload, and finds the ammo has been taken off his belt by an angry sweep of a knife. Gabriel can see the thoughtful tip of his head as he judges the man's hold on his knife.

The pistol is reversed in his hand, and his arm lashes across. Jesse steps across as the man splashes facefirst into the water, stomping him down hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs and holding him there. Between the knock to his head and the crush to his ribs, the man's struggle is brief. Gabriel assesses it and gives a little nod to himself. The motion comes with another shiver that wrenches at his jaw.

A shape looms behind Jesse, swinging a stun baton. "Roll to me," Gabriel orders loudly through chattering teeth. Jesse splashes into the water. Gabriel folds himself up and kicks out over him with both feet. Bone crunches, a body flies back into the smoke, and he attempts to give himself another little nod. His breastbone hits his chin.

"Who has the key?" Jesse asks.

Gabriel locks his jaw to cut down on the chattering. "Rifle to your three."

Jesse nods and plunges back into the smoke. When he frees Gabriel, he has to catch him, Gabriel's shivering too hard to stand. Another agent gets on his other side. Jesse doesn't drag him back towards the winter air. He takes him deeper towards the hot springs. Jesse's shivering too, after his own little dip.

"You smell like shit," Jesse tells Gabriel. They enter the little room where people are supposed to bathe before getting into the springs. Jesse tests the showers. They run, and he shoves Gabriel against the wall and pins him there with his weight. Gabriel understands; his muscles keep convulsing and trying to drop him. The water's not heated, but it's warmer than the hose and it's better to warm up gradually.

"You think you're a bunch of flowers?" Jesse is looking at his face carefully in the dim glow of the lights from his armor, measuring how bad it is. Gabriel presses against him just for his warmth. Jesse tests to see if he can get the water a little warmer, but the water heaters must have broken. Jesse hauls him into the springs and tests the shallowest one, the one furthest from the rest. Apparently deciding it's the coolest, he lowers Gabriel towards the rim, letting him sit, get his feet used to it. It feels boiling, Gabriel has to stop. 

"Fuck yes." Jesse helps him lower himself into the springs. Gabriel shoves him off, because enough is enough. Jesse sheds armor and green-stained clothes and slides in across from him. "I am amazin', all the time." He pats a hand into the water with obvious disappointment and heaves himself up again. 

"Hotshot, if they're not all dead right now, you're never hearing the end of it."

"Uh, hunh." Jesse discovers his waterproof cigar case has cracked in the fight, sighs hugely, and settles down one pool over. The lights are distant and dim. Gabriel rests the back of his head on the stone and lets his body drift. It feels so hot it's painful after the frigid soaks he's been getting. He's kicking Jesse's ass if Jesse interferes, though. "We got a count, we had scans on all of them, and I was listenin' to them tick down on my earpiece."

The shivering is sanding him over the rock less, so he thinks it's time to move. "Is that one warmer?" He knows it is, because Jesse rejected his for it, but he wants to hear Jesse talk. 

"Yeah."

Gabriel hauls his body into the air as he crosses over to it. Okay, this is better, this is heavenly. The cramps and spasms through his body are easing out. He ducks under until Jesse hooks a hand under his neck and pulls him up. "-McCree."

"Sorry," Jesse says, moving away in the dimness. "I just killed someone by drownin' 'em, and you weren't comin' up."

Reyes doesn't argue, he just floats with only his face above water. McCree is muttering and poking around in his armor, holding his arm oddly above the surface. "You bleeding into my hot spring?"

"Sorry, sir," Jesse says.

"C'mere." Reyes moves over to join him, propping up the breastplate. It's a narrow slice, and shallow, but long. "Asshole, pay more attention in knife fights."

"Wasn't stabbed," Jesse says. Reyes rolls his eyes and shoves Jesse against the edge. It probably wasn't bleeding much when the skin was chilled. This isn't worth biotics, tape will do it, and he holds it shut and seals it off. "Anything else?"

"Don't think so. You?"

"They didn't do shit. Didn't even try." He'd been wondering about those stun batons, but he has an idea they were waiting for him to be near-dead of exposure before they started in on him. He remembers how far the one he'd kicked had flown. Smart of them. "How long were you planning on staying here? There's still a mission on."

"They don't need a minder to pack up all the intel, your second-in-command's on his feet," Jesse points out. "Besides, I'm monitorin' your recovery."

"The thing this recovery needs is silence," Gabriel says. Jesse obligingly shuts up.

Gabriel is pleased, overall: despite their surprise, they regrouped. Despite the shitty gas canister, they prevailed. And despite Jesse's reliance on flashy gunplay, when he was needed to just fucking hit someone, he came through. Gabriel can still see it in his mind's eye: beautiful strike, like a snake biting.

He smiles.


	15. And Call Him Fluffy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write sad, dark vampires.
> 
> Instead the prompt is: HAPPY WEREWOLVES.

"We must stay _completely calm,_ " says Angela at the top of her lungs.

"I'm calm," says Gabriel. He has Jack pinned down on the floor, for now. "I'm calm."

Jesse is sitting behind the knocked-over refrigerator with his tail between his legs. He whines to Jack, who wags his tail with a series of rapid-fire _whumpwhumpwhumps._

 Genji barks. Tracer's accelerator flares, and she springs across the kitchen to pounce on Genji. The two start barking. Jack throws Gabriel off to go bark with them. Gabriel cannot hear himself think.

**

"So Tracer broke time," Gabriel is saying.

"Completely calm," says Angela, throwing the toy again for Jack. Jesse leaps up and tackles him down as he springs by. There is scuffling and fake-snarling and flashing fangs as long as Gabriel's little finger, as well as splintering noises from the floor.

"It wasn't her fault," Winston says, at the same time Tracer wurfles in apology.

"Tracer's accelerator bumped time, without her knowledge or fault. And something from another timeline clawed Jesse. And Jesse did not think to tell us," Jesse pads up and stares at him with huge, sorry eyes, "although we wouldn't have given a shit. And we just threw him in the back of the van with Genji-" Genji is chewing on an empty knife sheath, he thinks one of his, "Tracer, Jack, and... whoever that fluffy white wolf is. One of the environmental scientists?"

"Mei-Ling," Angela agrees.

"This is why Genji regrew his _entire body_ , McCree grew an arm, and everyone has turned half-animal and is tearing _my base_ to shreds. They'll turn back in two days, and then we get to wait until next month, when it happens all over again. With more damage to _my base._ " They all look at the claw marks tracked across the floor. Morrison whines and turns a golden ear flat. "Goddamn you, Morrison." Jack glances sidelong at Jesse and lifts his ears. "No, I'm not blaming him, too, you're the one who's supposed to be... Jack." He's pretty sure he just admitted that he accepts property damage with McCree. "The odd thing is, I can recognize everyone I know." Little brown wolf, unable to keep its paws still: Tracer. Shaggy, big, brown wolf: Jesse. Trim, golden wolf: Jack. It's uncanny. "It's like they look how they think they should look."

"Genji is green," Angela protests. "Why would Genji be green? And Mei-Ling has dark hair, not pure white."  

 Jesse launches a surprise attack on Jack, who leaps back, barking, and bowls them over into the table. Glass shatters. Jesse yelps. Angela springs to help. Gabriel gets there just after Jesse's swipe slashes through Jack's arm and cuts the air towards Mercy.

Forty seconds later, a slim, small, blonde werewolf is chewing the last of Angela's armor off.

"We're going outside," Gabriel says through gritted teeth. He ostentatiously picks up a stun rod off the wall and waves it at them. "Down. Stay."

**

He would like to say that nobody has dared nick his skin yet because of his authority, but it's probably just that they recognize that someone must stay the adult. It is more like babysitting a lot of huge, hairy toddlers than anything else.

Jesse and Jack never quite get to a fight, because Jesse always backs down when Jack starts to get huffy and serious. Tracer and Genji keep seeming to think they are squirrels, and have brought down four branches. Angela and Mei play tug-of-war in a most polite and genteel way. 

**

Ana brings treats.

"Throw them," Gabriel says as soon as he sees her.

"They are our friends. You would not have them on the base if you thought they were dangerous."  

"They are accident-prone idiots with infectious spikes on their feet and mouths," Gabriel says. "Throw-" but Genji has discovered the smell of food. Ana is suddenly in the middle of a lot of yipping, jostling wolves. They are quite good at not nipping her, but when she drops a treat there is a general shove. In the chaos, a claw gets through Ana's shoe.

Ana makes a lovely gray wolf. She and Mercy quickly develop a game where they cut one recruit out of the running group and herd him (or her) into the pond (or pool.)

Gabriel is the _only adult._

**

Jack is kind-of alpha. He gets the best spots, and nobody pushes him out of them. On the couch by Gabriel is a Best Spot, so Gabriel sits in the middle of the couch, and is surrounded by wolves. He watches TV and scritches ears. Tracer and Jesse hide behind each other during scary scenes. On Gabriel's bed is a Best Spot.

Gabriel shoves him off the bed, but Jack tends to sneak back up as soon as he's asleep and shed defiantly on the covers.

One night Gabriel takes them all off the base and goes camping, which means that in the morning he is surrounded by fur on all sides. It is hot. He's from LA, so it's actually a great change from his usual camping experience. He stays contentedly snoozing until someone licks his ear. Then it's time for the morning run.  

**

"I need total quiet for this," Winston says. "Please. Quiet, please, just let me think." Gabriel grabs muzzles and shakes scruffs until everyone is quiet. Winston looks around. "Much better. Okay... give me just a minute..."

The thing he was working on spits out a lot of lights. Then a lot of sparks. Then it melts. Nearby wolves growl and sneeze at the stench. Winston sighs. "Sorry, everyone."

It's not his fault, so Gabriel lets him have quiet until Tracer is practically vibrating with pent-up yelps. Gabriel mutters "arooOOoo." Around him, noses lift towards the sky.

"I heard that!" Winston says, pointing accusingly, just before the howling rises around them in earnest.

**

Full moon lasts a little longer than Gabriel thought. It's the night of the full moon and two days and nights to either side. But, in the morning, he wakes up surrounded by naked people.

Gabriel kicks Jack off the bed, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.  

**

"It's certainly nice to be fully human again!" Angela says, taking a bite of celery.

"A plus!" Tracer says, eating a piece of chocolate.

"Amazing!"

"Satisfactory." Genji dips celery in peanut butter.

Gabriel decides to test just how far the wolves have receded. He mutters: "arooOOoo." Around him, faces lift for the sky. Answer: they haven't. Their howls just are much worse, not even on the same octaves, much less the same keys. Gabriel rolls his eyes and swipes Jack's chocolate bar. Winston has not emerged from the lab. Gabriel is grateful that someone besides him is acting like an adult. 

**

"Genji... I think when I fix it, you're going to stay as you are," Winston says, half-apologetically. Genji flattens his ears and wags his tail.

"If you fix it during the full moon, I will kill you," says Gabriel. Immediately, there are noses aimed his way. Ears droop in unison, and huge, staring eyes gather around him. All of them love Winston. He puts his fists on his hips. "Fine. I will just banish you off the base, and cut off your peanut butter rations."

They still seem to think he is a monster. He grunts. They can be their fuzzy asshole monster selves, and he'll stick to his brand.

**

Winston is playing a rough game with Tracer and does not notice he has gotten peanut butter on his elbow.

"God _damn_ it!" says Gabriel, who does not need to be told what happened when a labrador-looking beast twice his size smashes through a wall. "-my base!"

Winston no longer fits through a lot of doors, like the one into Gabriel's room, or the one to outside. He just goes through anyway.

Chairs are no longer a good idea, since Winston taking the Best Spot tends to result in shattering noises. The Best Spot is fluid, but has resulted in Jack flipping his chair over at least three times and Winston sending him flying twice. Gabriel starts to eat his meals sitting on the floor cross-legged. They respect his right to his own food, although he's pretty sure that's because he's still got the stun rod.

**

_Taking them for a walk_ now involves throwing a side of beef in the bed of a pickup truck and driving like hell. Tracer still darts up into the bed, but if he takes the turns right he can throw her out again before she eats too much to be uncomfortable running.

**

"I'm really sorry," Jack says from the floor. "I don't mean to be such a furniture-smashing, sneaking asshole who's always trying to get on your furniture. It's just hard to think in the full moon. I just feel playful and fierce and... I'm sorry."

"I get it," says Gabriel. "You all owe me, but fuck it, you're not yourselves. I'm just lucky you're not trying to eat anyone." He stretches. "Now. Everyone get your naked, human or ape asses _off my floor_ and get out. Get some goddamn clothes on." It's not as effective when he has to point at the hole where his door was before Winston popped the frame open and smashed open the wall, but he still has the stun baton in his hand. He's never had to use the damn thing, but he never leaves it out of reach. 

"Can we still go for a run together?" asks Mei.

"Yes. Go!"

**

"I'm pretty sure I have it," Winston says. "But I can't activate it until this last full moon's over." 

**

"Gabriel," Jack says. They're all sitting on the slope. Everyone except Gabriel is naked, having left their clothes inside. They are all wrapped in towels. As soon as the first one changes, the tug of war will begin. The entire fucking _slope_ is going to be covered in bits of towel fluff for the rest of the month.

"Yeah?"

"You should come with us. Because there's only one left, anyway."

"I've got it this time," Winston says. Even he has a towel. "Mei and I did the math. It all works out."

"You never get to have any fun," Jesse says. "It's not..." he shrugs. He doesn't ever say _it's not fair_ to Gabriel, because they are both Blackwatch and they both know that they will never see fair. But he makes a little whining noise in his throat.

Gabriel looks around. "I don't know if you know what you're getting into. Maybe I will be the kind of werewolf that eats people." The others all look at Jesse.

Jesse looks around. "I don't know why y'all are looking at me," he says defensively.

"I am pretty sure I have a longer kill count," Ana says. "Nonetheless, when I see unarmed people, I only want to chase them into a duck pond. Besides, all base personnel have been relocated except the Omnics."

"We all got this off Lena, before we forget," McCree adds. "Not surprised we're all Tracer-brand lycanthropes."

"If we think you're going to hurt anyone, we'll stop you," Winston promises. "But you haven't shocked any of us through all this time. We've seen you want to." 

Gabriel holds his hand out to Jesse, who licks his fingers and digs human nails into the side of Gabriel's hand. Gabriel swears and cuffs him. Jesse cringes elaborately, something he would never have bothered to do as human. Gabriel starts taking off and folding his clothes. "Jesse, hand me your towel. I need to get this inside before moonrise."

He feels something different as he drops his clothes in the nearest window.

Joy.


	16. REMIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REMIX TIME
> 
> Take a story by another author and... not rewrite but reinterpret!
> 
> In this case, a simple shift in POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original work: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8327095
> 
> by
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/YuriHaruyama/pseuds/YuriHaruyama

The sunlight is harsh,  the yellow ball in the sky swinging up into the fullest part of its arc. A sweet breeze swirls through the door and across the wooden floor as the ninja slides it open and steps into the peace of the tiny house. His stomach is a small, discontented ball in his ribs. However, the indicator light to the left of his visor is a bright, healthy green. He does not need to worry about refueling what flesh he has.

“Mercy told me you still eat,” a voice begins, with the suddenness of a plan that he has walked into. It is a far more innocent ambush than he has seen in years. Like magic, there is a piece of colorful fabric in the air in front of him, hanging from a cheerful hand. Genji takes it, befuddled. The weave of the fabric is tight and cheap, the colors bright and giddy. He turns it as if it holds a mystery. A voice chides his reluctance to take it: memories of running across the playground with the other children, getting his mug and toothbrush and going to fetch his lunch. Obediently, as if he were again that child directed by a loved teacher, he sits and puts the bundle on the plain table. 

This gift is made from time and videos, wrapped in cloth and delivered with love and lectures. Genji feels foolishly over-weaponized. The sword at his back and the shuriken in his hands will not save him here. He undoes the cloth. The box is simple, the grain of the wood bright with a lack of polishing and sanding. It is not a box fit to hand a Shimada. It is perfect. He opens it and is greeted with color and the kind of simplicity that takes time and great thought. It looks as if the vegetables were slivered with the precision of someone slowly looking back and forth from screen to knife. It looks as if the rice bunny were shaped by someone who has never seen a bunny, but once heard of the animal. The eggs look like a childhood memory, and he blinks as he remembers stealing a few more minutes for cartoons while his brother grouses on the training grounds.  

The house sits around their stillness, the walls catching words that trip with anxiety. Genji cannot bring himself to interrupt. He has to wait until they trail off to offer reassurance. He picks up the worn, wooden chopsticks from their slot in the bento tray and tries a vinegary carrot ear. His tongue tingles to life with the spice and tang. His stomach relaxes in hope as the smell sifts through his nostrils, pushing away the hot-chrome-and-paint smell that hangs inside his visor.

He feels refreshed already. He utters soft thanks, the chopsticks scattering the rice of the bunny's head and flicking it over a little slice of egg.

Even with the permanent taste of mechanical air sifted over his tongue, it tastes just like it did, once.


	17. Hell...squasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone said something like "I JUST WANT REIN AND ANYONE." 
> 
> This somehow combined with Hanzo's Halloween skin, and here we are.

Hanzo enters the room hanging off his feet. Reinhardt booms, "well! This looks much better!" and places him gently down. "It is only six more hours, friend!"

"Six hours," Hanzo grates, fixing him with glowing white eyes, "can be a very. Long. Time." Its voice is laced with menace.

Reinhardt slaps the door shut and leans against it, sliding down to sit. "Ha! I was infected by a vampire once. It took days and days before we could get me cured! A little demon possession is nothing. Especially not by such a little demon, ah?" He pulls out a thin paperback from between his hip bone and his metal armor. "I will keep you company."

"Your company is most unwelcome."

Reinhardt shifts uncomfortably. He fishes an arrow shaft out of the join of his shoulder and chest plate and uses it to pry the arrowhead from his forearm plate. Then he rolls both under the gap in the door. Tracer whisks them away before the demon can telekinetically whip them back in. "How is your aim not as good as his?"

"I simply did not want to look at your face." Hanzo throws himself down to sit on the floor. It is padded. The walls are padded. The ceiling is padded. Three hours ago, the demon decided to try to batter Hanzo's body against every surface, thinking it could hold his body hostage. An hour of bearhugs later, traded by Roadhog, Winston, and Reinhardt as they required breaks, it gave up.

They still wouldn't let him loose until they had a straitjacket and padded room.

"My nose itches," Hanzo grumbles.

"That doesn't sound like you at all."

Hanzo insults him in Japanese.

"It sounds as if you are very nearly back to your old self!" Reinhardt fixes him with a look. "But you have his regional accent wrong." He goes back to his book.

**

The demon is not, Reinhardt notices quickly, very subtle.

It leans close, murmuring in his ear. Hanzo's hair hangs over its face, slicing ebony across the shining moons of its eyes, and promises him wild delights Hanzo would never-

Reinhardt ruffles its hair and congratulates it on: "you got his eyeliner very nearly right! Such a steady hand. I did not know hell provided practice for that!" He returns to his book. "Did you know Bulgaria is a huge exporter of footwear? It has been for decades and decades!"

**

Three hours have passed. Reinhardt is given ham, cheese, and bread slices one at a time through the gap under the door. He asks for pickle slices, creates a sandwich, and eats enthusiastically.

The demon, it turns out, dislikes cheese, but approves of both pickles and ham.

Reinhardt gazes critically at the clock shining through the padding. "I don't suppose I could interest you in a jar of pickles and a ham if you'll come out now? It is better than going back to hell empty-handed." A rolling, bubbling hiss spews from Hanzo's mouth. "All right, then."

**

Hanzo, with an overlay of a retreating demon, sits beside Reinhardt and listens to him read aloud.

**

Reinhardt stops reading. Leans in towards Hanzo. The demon, suddenly aware of him again, looks up, hopeful. "I can offer you-"

Reinhardt removes a piece of fluff from the edge of one nostril. "That looked annoying."

"Not as annoying as your face."

"You have used that one already." Reinhardt returns to reading. "I suppose it must be hard to remember, with hell yawning close."

"A fratricide might well be mine," the demon hisses.  

"Then you had better go and find one." Reinhardt turns the page. "Genji lives. Now, where were we-"

"You pathetic oaf! You have turned two pages stuck together! Resume your rightful place in the story!"

"Ah. You are right." Reinhardt shuffles back and clears his throat. "As the sun rose over the river..."

**

Hanzo retches and spews black bile over the floor.

"Hush. You are fine," Reinhardt says severely. "Look, if you go quietly, I will burn this book for you later tonight."

Glowing white eyes lift to study him.

"And a slice of ham."

Hanzo arches backward. His head whips forward as his spine bows. Reinhardt drops the book beside the ichor, catching him with both hands. Hanzo coughs and spits. Reinhardt looks at the clock.

"What is happening? Where am I?" Hanzo spits strings of inky... something.

Reinhardt looks at the clock. "I will tell you in four minutes."

"Water?" Hanzo asks.

Reinhardt taps on the door. "Who's out there?"

"Me!" answers Winston. They can hear him knuckling closer to the door. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," says Reinhardt. "But our friend could use some tea."

"Why are we being kind to our friend-" Winston starts severely. "Oh! Our friend! Is it noon already? I was so busy - tea! Of course! I'll go ask Genji to make some now." He knuckles off.  

"I had forgotten how he gets when he's working," Hanzo says. "He's usually shut up in the lab?"

"I will tell you in a few minutes." Reinhardt flips back through the book. "What chapter did we leave off reading?"

"You seem annoyed with me," says Hanzo, in the tone of someone who is starting to remember what they thought would be a good idea at 11:45 the night before.

"I am." Reinhardt clears his throat. "Ah. Here we are. The start of chapter 7." Four minutes later, he tosses the book aside. "Now. Let us discuss the matter of _your guilt_ leading you to _summon a demon._ "

"Why would you not before?" Hanzo says.

Reinhardt moves so that Genji can come in with tea, tsking at the ichor still gooed over the floor. "In case he was still in there! It was always possible he was merely faking, and this is not a discussion I want to have, thinking that I am having it with you, twice."  

"I do not want you to summon a demon to restore me," Genji says. "I think it is a very stupid idea. I think that when you have ideas like that, you should think twice. And realize you are being very stupid. And find a friend instead, to distract you from having ideas like that." He stalks out. He has left an excellent jumping-off point, for which Reinhardt is grateful.

**

On the third night, Hanzo is still sleeping on the couch.

However, this time, Reinhardt drops a blanket on him on his way to the fridge for a midnight snack.

**

On the fourth night, Reinhardt is sitting on the couch. Hanzo obligingly settles down on it, leaning on his arm. Reinhardt rearranges them with Hanzo tucked under his arm.

"It is a good book," Hanzo says. The copy is gleaming and new, but there a few dog-ears in the pages already.

"Humans and demons agree." Reinhardt strokes his hair. "You know, it would never have traded what you wanted. It would only have demanded longer and longer possession, dangling the hope before you."

"I just want-" Hanzo sighs. Reinhardt keeps stroking. "I do not see how to forgive myself."

"You do not belong in hell." Reinhardt puts the book down and pulls him in for a hug. "You never will."


	18. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MINIPROMPT

It's normal, he knows.

He slips out of the kitchen with the stash tucked under his shirt. A few energy bars, a few canned meat... things, he doesn't know, a few packets of fish protein concentrate, a few packets of cookies.

He's only a couple years past Deadlock and sometimes it hits hard. Like after a time like this, when they've been out for weeks in the wilds, stretching their rations as far as they can. He can't get his mind off it. Can't stop thinking about food, can't stop obsessing. The easiest way to make it go away is to give himself a little safety.

He feels furtive, like a squirrel trying to bury a nut out of sight of the others, as he searches through the barracks for a good spot. No, too obvious, there's people in and out all the time, they're always remodeling or repatching. Training rooms? Same problem.

He finds a loose board in the range when he moves an old shelf. Perfect. He pries it up to find a handful of ration bars, a few cubes of... something freeze-dried, is it octopus? A couple of MREs. Someone else in Blackwatch knows what this is like. Someone else in Blackwatch has the same damn secretive drive. Someone in Blackwatch has absolutely _shit_ taste in food.

Jesse drops a packet of cookies on top of the pathetic little pile. After all, he's not even hungry right now, it's not like he needs them. He just... needs to know they're there. He puts the board and shelves like they were.

Besides, if whoever-that-was forgets their stash was there, it's totally his later.


	19. Happenstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Just dad.
> 
> Polyglot Gabriel shamelessly borrowed from AlmaMeDuele.

The head injury isn't something he gets on the field when the Omnics first start testing them. That's just a little flesh wound to his leg. He gets the head injury because Barton slips on the stairs and falls on him, and Gabriel's injured leg can't hold them, and he misses the railing when he grabs and cracks his head on the doorway.

And that's it. That's the end of his career. It takes a while for the damage to show up, his first seizure followed by the second followed by the third followed by an official diagnosis of trauma-induced epilepsy and discharge. He's sent back to LA, behind a protective cordon from the nearby Omnium. He starts grinding his teeth in his sleep. He feels caged and ineffective, prisoner to his misfiring brain.

Jesse is the annoying neighbor kid. He only knows Jesse from some time watching him while his grandmother goes to the store. He doesn't know his grandmother well, and seizes on Reyes as soon as he learns Reyes can be maneuvered into doing things with him, like going outside or baking cookies or cutting pages out of magazines or any time-wasting kid bullshit. Loud with the kind of demand for distraction that some kids use to deal with trauma, and  active like a small tornado, he's an effective distraction from Reyes' impatient waiting for another seizure. And when the seizure does happen one day, leaving him exhausted and confused, Jesse sits and talks with him until he's got everything straightened out again.

The cordon doesn't hold. LA is hit by another wave of Omnics.

Gabriel is not supposed to be fighting, stress makes it worse, but a soldier dies in front of him and his weapon falls to the concrete. What's Gabriel going to do? He takes the fucking rifle and moves to join the defense. When it's all over, he limps back to his apartment, battered, bloodstained, and impatient. He knows the seizure happens because suddenly it's much later than he was and he's standing naked in the shower, waiting for the water to turn on. (The pipes are dead.)

He can hear sirens outside. It sounds like just disaster management, no more combat. When he opens the door, Jesse is pacing in the hallway, waiting for his grandmother to come home.

They have to hold in LA. Soldiers with huge trucks covered in sensors and checkpoints become standard. Five days later, she still has not returned. Gabriel knows where she was going on her errands. He has looked at the burned, blasted street. Jesse keeps staring down it too. Jesse knows.

He finds the social workers' department. They're busy as hell. He feels even more useless. He starts to report Jesse's situation, but takes another look at their overworked and overburdened desks.

"Hell with it," he says. "I'll look out for him. I'm his neighbor. Is there paperwork?" One of them looks at him for a long moment, then nods, tapping something into her console. She's Elle, he learns, and from her talk about the neighborhoods that were hardest hit, he learns all the things about Omnic positioning and aims that the soldiers hadn't wanted to talk about. She learns a lot about him, too. He's pretty sure she's run some kind of background check on him already.   

Jesse doesn't say anything when Gabriel clears out his office/gun room and puts Jesse's small bed in there. Or for the rest of their day, which Gabriel keeps as routine as he can. But when he locks up the door to the apartment and takes the key to the manager, Jesse's sitting on the bed when he gets back. He launches at Gabriel, locks little arms around his neck, and refuses to let go. Gabriel ends up packing up his guns into smaller cases with Jesse still snuffling into his shirt.

Jesse grabs his coffee cup and throws it at the wall after lunch. Gabriel knows what's up, and silently starts picking up the shards until Jesse brings him the trash bin to help. Once the sniffling starts, Gabriel sends him to go wash dishes until he's cleaned up the sharp bits.

It goes on like that: trying to put his own life back together, beside a little ball of chaos trying to understand what's happened to his tiny world. Since the kids' school hasn't been replaced yet, he gets some books together and starts teaching what he can. Elle shows up after a few days. She interviews Jesse, taking notes. Gabriel is pleased with this. After all, he could be anyone, just taking a little kid off the streets. He's glad someone's trying to look out for them all.

Having custody of a kid orphaned by war means he gets an extra food and clothing ration. When their food's getting low, Gabriel decides he'd better not wait and risk setting off another seizure with the stress of dwindling resources. They go past a garage sale. The woman is selling, among other things, an indigo teddy bear with a shirt striped pink and black with neon stripes. Jesse is in love immediately and names her Sombra before Gabriel's even paid for her. (He's pretty sure it costs him double. Fuck it.)

Having gone from just taking care of his own recuperation to watching a kid, Gabriel isn't really surprised at the next step. The distribution center is set up at a bus stop. He turns around, his papers in hand, to ask Jesse if his birthday's right on a form when he sees the little girl. She's about Jesse's age. She's jumped up from a bench against the wall to take the bear's hand.

"Her shirt's just like yours!" Jesse says.

Gabriel looks around. He already knew that they were taking orphaned kids to less battered cities, so he's not surprised when he sees Elle. She's trying to get some children in a line; overworked, she hasn't noticed yet that she's missing one. Gabriel calls and waves. She's looking around, counting, when Gabriel points down at the little girl's head.

"Oh!" The social worker leads the children over. They're now in a staggered chain, holding hands. "Thank you!"

"Sombra Bear has a t-shirt just like hers," Jesse says helpfully.

"Sweetie," Elle says to the little girl, "I know. I know. You want to stay. But we can't, we have to go." The little girl looks up at Elle, past her at the bus. She runs to the bench and sits down on it, glaring.

"What's her name?"

"We don't know. She won't talk to us, but-"Elle shakes her head. "I think someone might have told her to wait in the city."

"I think you're right." Gabriel watches Jesse head over, plopping on the bench beside her, the bear between them. Four dirty sneakers swing in the air. "Fine," Gabriel surrenders. "I can watch out for her until someone shows up."

Elle's face wrinkles in concern, but she takes another look at the waiting bus and the kids. The little girl holding one bear paw. Another, longer look at Gabriel. A quicker look at Jesse, with his other hand wrapped around the other bear paw.  "I'll get the papers."

Jesse's eyes go huge. "Can we take Sombra home now? I want to show her my airplane!"

"Jesse," Gabriel says, "you can't name her after the bear."

"I'm not! The bear is Sombra Bear. She's Sombra."

Gabriel is opening his mouth to reiterate, but a new sound interrupts him. The girl is giggling.

**

A pattern is emerging. Gabriel frowns at the monitor, tapping keys. Letters twitch, reorganize. Spaces jump into place. He looks away. Then back. Away. Then back. Meaning flickers to him through the pattern. He sifts through grammatical rules and ways of arranging sentences, language after language, in his head. Something clicks. If that's a Hindi dialect, it explains the other message. That's not a code at all. It's an overlay. He reorganizes the coded messages with this perspective and runs the analysis.

He breaks open a crack. The minute he sees a pattern jumping out, he flags it, adds some notes, and kicks it straight back to the supervisor to be assigned to a team. He pulls off his nose-canceling headphones with a sigh of relief.

"I'm telling Dad!" a voice is roaring.  Right. Back to the _other_ job. He gets up and opens the door. Two pairs of eyes blink up at him. There is soggy paper all over the floor. A piece is hanging from the ceiling.

"I don't care who started it. Both of you, clean it up. If this kitchen isn't ready for me in five minutes, you're both fixing dinner. I pick the recipes." Jesse scrambles for a basin while Sombra runs for the towels.

The Omnic Crisis rumbled to a stop over two years, held off by weapons, finished off by frantic hacking and codebreaking. Thankfully, the Omnica Corporation never quite worked out some of their early bugs, and every Omnic came with a predictable weakness. Gabriel is now a consultant, turning his knack for languages into an advantage for his country. The latest anti-seizure medication is the best. He's got those under control, finally.  

Jesse and Sombra are growing. Gabriel casts an eye over the splotch on the ceiling that Sombra is buffing with her towel. They are not yet growing _up,_ but they are definitely growing. Gabriel shakes his head, walking into the rec room. It's got little touches for all of them. Jesse's old movies, Sombra's console, his meditation corner.

(Sombra is starting to worry him. Her grades jumped sharply, but he's noticing the same mistakes on her homework as she made before.)

There's a message for him on the datapad lying by his cushion. He grabs it. It's from Morrison. God, it's been how long, now?

_Wanted to catch up - can we do dinner?_

Gabriel quirks a lip. _Might not be very festive. The kids were busy. Tomorrow?_

_Lunch?_

Gabriel sets up reservations and sends him an invite. Then he goes back to the kitchen to see how they're doing. Sombra is pulling Jesse's hair while he hits her with her soggy towel.

They fuck up the recipe while trying to cook dinner. Gabriel gave them the joint project so they'd be on the same side, working together on something. Since they obviously didn't even try to coordinate, he hands out groundings. Sombra cries, since she wanted to go to the mall with Fareeha. Gabriel ignores it, excuses himself, and reschedules dinner with Jack.  

As he walks down the stairs, he realizes that this feels normal. This feels like he's finally gotten everything back on track.

He sends a message to Sombra:

_Don't forget your homework. You can't hack the standardized test database. Love you._

He makes a mental note to himself: check to see if she's hacked it.

He sends a message to Jesse. He's sterner with him, because Jesse didn't have any plans and won't be as bothered about being grounded:

_I expect better. Do better. Love you._

He sends a message to Ana:

_Sorry about that. I know you wanted some space tonight._

_She has another friend to spend time with. I'm meeting a friend for dinner,_ Ana messages back. _You're late._

Gabriel smiles into the night air. Yeah. Back on track. 


	20. Heartful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the previous prompt. If for some reason you just jumped in, it will probably make more sense if you start there.

There's a bonus for living in LA: the resettlement credit. When the recontruction begins, Gabriel buys a little house attached to a big garage, and moves them in. Ana can't move in next door, but she and Fareeha take an apartment two blocks away.

Gabriel wakes up one night at a flash of light. Lightning strobes the windows. A crash of thunder immediately shakes the tiny house. Gabriel sighs, sitting up in bed, and goes and gets his bathrobe. The door bangs open, and Sombra darts across the floor and burrows under his covers. Gabriel sits down on the bed. Jesse appears in the door a moment later and hops up on the mattress.

"Ha!" says the lump under the covers. "Jesse's _scared_!"

"You're scared!" Jesse says indignantly.

"I didn't say I wasn't," the hidden Sombra answers. Lightning lands on a rod on a building across the street and thunder crashes in the sky. Both children shriek. Gabriel rolls his eyes, settling back against the headboard as Sombra surfaces on one side, Jesse on the other. Sombra Bear whaps the side of his face as Jesse struggles with the blankets.

"What if the house is hit?" Sombra asks.

Gabriel makes it sound as boring as he can. "We'd probably lose power."

"Would we burn down?" Jesse asks. "That's how wildfires get started. And then everything burns up."

"I would look in the attic and see if there was any damage. But we're surrounded by taller buildings with lightning protection. They'll get hit before we do."

"Lightning never strikes in the same place twi-" Sombra starts, and is proven wrong when another bolt lands on the building across the street. She screams and dives under the covers. Jesse hides behind Sombra Bear. Sombra resurfaces and snuggles the arm of his bathrobe. Jesse grabs the other, with Sombra Bear like a bulwark between him and the edge of the bed.

"I don't like it," Sombra complains, as if Gabriel can fix it. That's when lightning hits the house, and the power goes out. Gabriel barely restrains himself from a word that neither are supposed to know yet. When the worst of the storm passes over, he gives Sombra a flashlight and has her go to the camping gear and get his travel stove. He takes Jesse up with him to check over the attic. Then he fires up the travel stove on the back porch and makes everyone cocoa.

When he gets back in his bed, he finds something dark and fuzzy between him and the pillows. Jesse appears in the doorway, a ghost in pale white jammies. Gabriel passes him Sombra Bear and kisses him goodnight again.

**

 Trick or treat's in half an hour. Jesse is bouncing off the walls. Sombra is coloring patiently. Gabriel is checking costumes. He comes downstairs with his arms full. Sombra looks up, dropping her crayons.

"Okay," Gabriel says. "Pick up your things, and you can get dressed." They rumble across the floor to him. He drops hats on heads and gives them armfuls of costumes. They run upstairs.

They reappear moments later, clutching little pumpkin buckets. Sombra is wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, an enormous hat, and a lariat. Jesse is wearing a fuzzy black costume, a black knit cap with large ears, and a black shirt with neon pink stripes. They both look as if they have already consumed their weight in sugar.

"Okay," says Gabriel as they vibrate in place. "Let's go over the rules."

"Daaa-aaad!" they whine in unison.

"Rules," says Gabriel, unfeelingly. The cowgirl clutches her bucket mutinously. Sombra Bear tugs on one fuzzy ear. They are both cute as hell. Gabriel does not let this stop him from reviewing the safety rules and the manner rules, each child repeating back to him, before they set off.

Gabriel makes sure they say 'thank you,' even at the house where they get toothbrushes. He also gets lots of pictures.

On the way back, they see the toothbrush house getting TP'd by a pair of adolescents.

"Grounded for a month," Gabriel says serenely before either child asks what would happen.

**

"Sombra," Gabriel says. "The door."

"What about the door?" She blinks innocently.

"The safety features have been removed," Gabriel says. "I stepped under it, and it didn't stop."

"Oh! That door!"

"That's a heavy garage door. If you actually got caught under it, you'd be killed." Gabriel fixes Jesse with a look. "Don't you try to sidle off. If she was playing the game where you hit the button and run under it before he closes, so were you."

"Um..." Sombra blinks. "I'll go look at it! Maybe I can see what went wrong!"

"You have lots of time to figure it out," Gabriel assures her. "Since both of you are _grounded_."

**

Their start into teenagers is bumpier than Gabriel had expected.

"-hang on, Jack." Gabriel is sorry to interrupt, and he's already worried. "That's the kids' school calling. I'll call you back."

"Mr. Reyes?" asks a familiar voice. Reyes breathes in deeply through his nose and lets it out through his teeth. "This is Ms. Warsame from-"

"Yes," Gabriel says. "I hope everyone's all right?"

"Oh, there was no fighting," she says. "Jesse's been good as gold for months now. No, this is an issue about the dress code."

"The dress code?" He reviews in his mind. Jesse had been wearing a perfectly normal outfit. Sombra had been wearing an old sweater and a knee-length skirt.

"Yes. It's really not appropriate for Sombra to be wearing this. We'll need her to change. Ms. Carver has suggested she be sent home."

Gabriel has also had a few run-ins with Ms. Carver. He takes another breath. "I'll be right over."

Sombra is sitting in the office with her arms crossed over a sequined top. The straps are too narrow. The cut is too low. He didn't know she had that, although rolled up, it was probably small enough to hide anywhere. He's amazed she made it this far into the day. Then he remembers Mr. Falwell is legally blind.

"Sombra," says Gabriel seriously. "Where's your sweater?"   

"I threw it out," she sulks. "At the bus stop."

"Where the hell did you-" He casts a glance at Ms. Warsame, who has one elegant brow raised. He passes Sombra his jacket. She scowls, letting it hang from her hand, until he folds his arms. Then she drops it over her shoulders. "We'll talk about this in the car."

"Dad!"

He says nothing until they get into the car. Then: "You had to know this wouldn't work. That shirt's too old for you, and it's not a school shirt."

 "It's pretty," she says. "And I'm thirteen."  

"And if this is the kind of judgment you and Fareeha are showing, there won't be more mall trips this year." He glances at the clock. "You'll have to miss lunch. I'll get you a sandwich."

"I'm going back? I can't go _back_ today _._ Lucy was snickering."

Gabriel gives her a sideways glance. "You'll miss your history makeup quiz."

"I missed that quiz for a stupid, lame field trip you made me go on! I can take a zero on the quiz!"

"You have to keep your grades up. You've been skipping homework too long." They reach a traffic light. He has the chance to give her a more serious look. "I know your bus was back at the school before your history period."  

Caught in a lie, she flares up. "You're not my real dad!"

That startles him. He looks straight ahead. "No," he says. "But I really love you. And you know better than to lie and to sneak around." A honk comes behind him, and he looks up to see the light's changed. He feeds the gas. Sombra is quiet.

He makes her a sandwich and washes an apple for her while she changes. After all, by the time they get back, lunch will mostly be over. When he looks up, she's in the kitchen, staring at his back. She's wearing the shirt he got her for her birthday.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean it."

"Get in the car," he answers, handing her the lunch bag.

Twenty minutes later, as the car starts home, he calls Ana. She sounds tired. "Dress code?"  he asks.

"Dress code," Ana confirms. "Sparkly top?"

"They were shopping together," Gabriel concludes.

"And they knew one of us would tell the other if they tried it on different days. We may not be subtle enough."

"They'd figure it out eventually," Gabriel says, although he has to agree.  "That reminds me. Jack will be in town next month-"

"One of the girls in their class is having a slumber party, and her mother has told me who's going to be invited. You just need to worry about Jesse."

"Perfect."

**

Sombra gives Gabriel her health book and the pamphlets silently.

"Thanks," Gabriel says, putting down his coffee and starting to check through them. Okay, section on menstruation looks informative, parts about condoms very clear, parts about STDs seem accurate. "You can ask me anything, you know."

"Okay," she says, and flees. It's pretty much what Jesse did. Gabriel continues to flip through, making sure that the bits about emergency contraception are up to date. He frowns. There's not a whole lot about what to expect from your partner - oh, good, there's the same information about consent that Jesse's had. 

There's something in Sombra's packet that wasn't in Jesse's. He sets aside the pamphlet on menstruation. He hasn't asked, but he's pretty sure Jesse's gay. But he could be wrong. And hell, if Jesse adopts a girl or Sombra has a bad period, there's no reason for Jesse to be clueless.  

**

"Are you sure you don't want another name?"

"You ask me that every year."

"You're going to be fourteen in a few months," he says. "I just want you to have the option. It will be easier to get the name you want on your learner's permit if you already have-"

"You're letting me _drive?"_

"Not for years," he says quickly. But she's grinning wickedly. Okay, time to backpedal this discussion.

**

"You basically saved Italy," the woman on his voicemail is saying. Not in Italian. Damn. Gabriel hits the stop button. 

"When did you save Italy?" Sombra asks.

Gabriel deletes it. "She's exaggerating." He doesn't want Sombra more interested in his work station, although he's installed an old-fashioned bolt with a key. The key's on a chain on his neck right now.  

Besides, he isn't sure which time that was.  

**

"Dad, I was thinking about it. I wanna change my name." 

"To what?" 

"Jesse Reyes." 

"Not your middle name?" 

"People are just gonna think it's a last name. I was thinking about it and... this is how I wanna do it."

Gabriel sits there blinking for a long moment. Finally: "It's still you, and you can still be whoever you want. You ever want to change it back, I'll help you find the paperwork."  

**

The ball flies through the air, arcs gracefully, heads by the goalie, and tents the back of the net. Sombra's smile is incandescent as she looks into the stands. Gabriel's on his feet, fists in the air. "Yes! YES! That's my girl!"

"Da-ad," Jesse whines.

"Cheer for your sister."

"Yay Sombra." But Jesse's clapping.


	21. Shadow Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt; something I'd been meaning to write for Elemental Forces, but doesn't really fit anywhere in that work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Talk of prostitution, former addictions.

In a connected world where there were eyes on every street and face matching technology was constantly improving, Overwatch, and Blackwatch, had a lot of agents whose identities were connected with other faces. Gabriel Reyes took the safety of his agent's families very seriously.

Belle McCree was safe in prison (and in her freewheeling proliferation of previous married names,) and Jesse McCree had been in foster placements for years. Gabriel didn't put it past some of the groups to target even that kind of association, but laying out the resources for it was not very likely.

But he put her on the notification list just in case. Hell, if nothing else, it would at least give him a yardstick for Jesse's risk of drug dependency.

Two years later, when he has _not_ had to toss Jesse back into solitary to rot, he gets an alert: Bella is out of prison; early; good behavior. He quirks a brow at it. Makes a little bet with himself.

**

She promised herself she'd make better decisions this time around. Bella goes further west. She goes back to Rell, her maiden name. She's been clean. She was clean during her pregnancy, she was clean for the baby (the baby she lost.)

She goes back to art. She'd picked it up again in prison, remembering a little girl dabbing in finger paints by a broad, white window. She draws in tall, stark lines. She paints in searing colors. She steals a datapad on her way through Scranton. Steals a purse on a bus stop in Tucson. Pawns it in Mesa, and doesn't accept a little blue pill at a party later. When bodies are loose and laughter rolls easy, she robs them blind and turns the cash into miles.

One day at a time. Embarrassing little missteps. She uses the last of the money to get a hotel room in Nevada and starts looking for jobs.

She knows she's a mess but she's still alive.

She searches again for her baby.

**

What's Bella up to, these days?

She's got a job, he notices with faint surprise, she's not back on the inside yet. He's lost his bet. He taps a few more things, looks a little deeper. She's going to support groups. For drugs, for alcohol, for a dead child.

He glances up. McCree is filling out, and has a lot better skin than a few years ago, has stopped falling over his feet and running into other agents, stopped being incredibly confused that his clothes are never the size he thought they were. Which is a relief, because while it was always something to laugh at, the joke was getting a little too predictable.

Reyes forgets about Bella again.

**

 She remembers art again. Lines spill out of her hands like whorls of dust stirred by angel wings. She draws in the sleepless nights after a laugh at a party has her remembering what being that high was like. She draws when she wakes up remembering the face of the social worker as he watched her go to the shambles where her house had been. (Even the damn cat gone somewhere in the tall grass.)

She'd wanted to get back on her feet there, away from prying eyes, but hell, nobody could keep an eye on her anyway. Being out of sight wasn't going to help.

**

Jesse's older, he's stronger, he's got tear streaks through the dust on his face. When he reaches to reload, he's got empty space under his fingers. Gabriel grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him onto the transport. The noise Jesse makes, although he does not fight Gabriel, is close to a howl, and he slams the sides of his fists against the door as it closes.

The canyon in Gabriel's own chest will have to wait. Gabriel grabs him around the shoulders and hauls him in. There's no risk here, no pretense, nobody else to shelter Jesse or comfort him. Gabriel bearhugs him around the shoulders and squeezes like he can hold Jesse together through strength alone.

Jesse struggles in his arms, and for a moment Gabriel thinks this is about to go very, very badly. But Jesse's not fighting mindlessly to get back out there. He's got a purpose, so Gabriel lets go.

Jesse picks up his gun, checks it for damage after he dropped it, holsters it, and then falls back on Gabriel. Reyes has seen this a thousand times. He takes his weight. His mind is already on cleanup: he gave orders to shut off accounts and wipe datapads. Now it's about recovering the weapons that have inevitably been looted from their dead.

And it's about revenge. He'll take revenge.

Notifications have piled up by the time he checks his datapad. One he was expecting to see by now: Bella's inside again. Check forgery. Identity theft.

 _Get your shit together!_ he thinks irritably. He checks the window. He's having to recall agents to make up for the losses they suffered. Outside, Jesse is still at the practice range. Reyes nods at his shoulders. He wants one _hell_ of an edge on his blade when it's time to pay this back.

**

Luz rules the drug trade with an iron fist. Today, she's got her mind on nothing but the joy of the party around her, looking for a pretty young thing. Jesse, with his muscles slimmed down from the discomforts of his last mission, his body waxed and painted, his hair gelled and a makeup artist having taken him back four years to eighteen (there's a spot of barely-concealed fake-acne on his chin, Reyes loves her for that,) has caught her eye. So has a moon-pale boy with dark hair and artificially green eyes.

Reyes growls. They're working on drugs that rip up the cords and cables of relationships and braid them into a jangled new weave. Earlier today, he questioned a man who'd lied for her like he'd known her all his life. He'd met her the morning before Reyes arranged a little face-to-face. They were holding him, still, waiting to see how long until it wore off. They wouldn't be able to let him go alive at the end.

But she's got two pills in her fingers, and she offers them to Jesse, who obediently leans in, bending down, and lips them from her fingertips.

One of them was bright green. Bella's poison. Jesse's got some potent blockers dancing in his synapses, but Reyes isn't sure that's enough, genetic weaknesses aren't fully understood yet. And Jesse's got disarming chemicals baked into his palms for a goddamn reason. He should have let her drop them into his palm. If Jesse just mouthed loyalty from her manicure, threw away all of Blackwatch's careful prep on a show, Reyes is going to kill him.

Jesse leans back, standing up, hooking one thumb into his jeans, not-subtly dragging down as he arches to slam the rest of his beer. He can see her gaze drop (along with everyone's around her, Jesse is fucking shameless, and it's a good thing that paint's friction-resistant.) Jesse flips the cup into the bushes, leaning forward. Luz throws her head back and laughs, then puts her fingers on the side of his face and kisses him. Jesse lets her in like it's what he's always wanted. His competition has already given up. Reyes looks away. The next time he looks up, Jesse's being led around with the end of her stole around his neck. Reyes rolls his eyes and flips open his datapad. Why is this taking so long?

Jesse's exit from the compound has already been arranged and agents are in place to cover him. When Jesse comes back, face and chest stained with lipstick and blood under his nails, Gabriel's sitting folded around his datapad with body language that forbids approach. He's already sent orders. A medic goes and gets Jesse.

 _Uncooperative_ is the message that lands on his datapad within two minutes of that. Gabriel's temper was just starting to ease with Jack's relief. He gets up and goes to find the problem.

"I don't need the check, I didn't take them," the problem is arguing. He's been wiping off the disguise on his face. Now he's half deep-toned, tanned skin, or half synthetic skin and holodust; half himself and half a made-up, glamorous little thing that never was.

Gabriel folds his arms. "She sure as hell checked." There's still a lipstick stain on the side of Jesse's mouth where he can see real skin, two-toned from where the beard blocked the light. A little bit of razor burn. Jesse did not like giving up his hard-won beard for a hit. Idiot. He'd complained more about _that_ than having his arm, back, and chest hair waxed off. (Reyes had heard that scream from the office.)

"Put them on the tongue, scrape them into the beer glass, flip the beer glass into the bushes," Jesse says patiently. He scuffs more of his alien disguise away. "Knew she wasn't gonna pay attention if she'd got something else to look at." He leans forward, three-quarters Reyes' agent, still shirtless, more hairless than the boy he'd been when Reyes first took him in. "She's dead an' I got her buyers."

"How'd you do it?"

Jesse reads the change in his tone and answers the right question. "Statue by door. Statue in skull. Objective complete." Jesse wipes the last of the paint off his face. He runs the cloth down his neck and along one arm. Reyes would like to watch him come back, now that he knows Jesse hasn't fried what brain he has, but the mission's over and he has things to wrap up, commendations to make for the plans that got them this far.

He wonders if Bella finished rehab this time.

**

 _Recovery_ Bella thinks.

She knows she's the last person who should be working with old folks, around their medications, but money's out and her looks have changed and she's not numb enough to sell her body for the little cash it'll give back. This is her last chance to get a job in the area. She doesn't want to move again.

**

Jesse should know his medical history. Should know the options, now that his mom's stopped being a disaster for two years now, now that he's got his feet under him. He's in a stable place. If he wants to take the time to reconnect, they can even afford for him to go.

"You ever think about looking up your mom?" Gabriel asks.

"No," Jesse says. "Past is past." Gabriel can tell he's still hit a nerve by the way his diction slips: "She ain't never come after me in foster care. Didn't try to find me in Deadlock. And who am I now? Jesse McCree's a new man." He winks. "No point openin' that door."

Gabriel nods, flicking open his datapad. He won't delete the records, but he'll store them. A new alert floating on top of the records shows that she's changed jobs. Good, she's got stability. To what?

"Oh _hell_ no," Gabriel says, and contacts her employer to report the shit out of her.

"What?" asked Jesse.

"Some asshole's always making a bad decision," Reyes said. "That one's stopped."

"Good," says Jesse, and goes back to his food.

**

Jesse McCree appears on the news when Bella is moving into her new apartment. She's lucky the nice Omnic let her come and clean. Without that money, she'd be homeless. She's managed to sell a couple of pictures, but money is tight.

Bella doesn't believe it's even happening at first. But that's her baby. Memories well up and spill out: hope, grief, confusion, all that new start, all those wasted-

She sends message after message after message, but he never responds.

**

Gabriel doesn't ask how many messages were blocked. Jesse said he doesn't want the door opened; when Jesse went on his first public Overwatch mission, Gabriel made sure it was shut.

Jesse spits in the dirt, and smiles at a mom holding her arms out to her kid, and turns away in the next minute with his eyes toward the target. Gabriel is already in position to back him up. He waits, like a rock.

**

She can no longer tell people her baby is dead; that fiction is not a comfort with his face all over the news. She searches his handsome face, over and over, seeing the things that he got from her.

She knows he would not own up to any of them.

**

Gabriel tries to push Jesse into Overwatch, briefly, because he is not sure what will happen now.

He gives up. Jesse won't go. Jesse has decided where he'll be and he just parks himself there, like a rock. Gabriel's just hurting them both trying it.

**

He meets her while she's drawing in the park. His puppy gets away from him and romps all over her white dress and her sketchpad. Bella shrieks and flails while a tiny tongue licks her face.

His name is Marcus. He's an accountant. He's incredibly boring. He's not too handsome. He's also stable, and calm, and kind. He knows nothing about pain, prostitution, addiction, recovery. His cluelessness is a protective blanket. Bella finds him calming. She could use some boredom.

**

Jesse is isolated, aloof. The pain of Blackwatch's factions is splintering at him. Gabriel wants to reach out, but he's hurting too, and it just makes it worse.

**

Parenting classes are agonizing, but Bella attends religiously.

Marcus doesn't like pain pills. There's an entire bottle in the cabinet from months and months and months ago.

Bella gets in the car and drives. She rolls the window down and throws them as far as she can into the rain.

**

There's a pool of light on the back porch. A woman is soothing a crying child. Reaper watches, but he already knows coming here was foolish. There's nothing here of Jesse. There's nothing here he can use.

Bella's head turns. She thought she saw something, but there's nothing there but the night wind in the branches.


	22. REMIX THE SECOND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hang the Fool, Ch. 9.
> 
> A shift in point of view, a shift of perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original work:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7127210/chapters/17048757 
> 
> Thank you, AlmaMeDuele. I hope you like it.

They watch. They do not watch. There are not there to watch; they see everything.

They wind together through space, obeying the limits of time. They are in Hanzo's mind; they are outside it; they would never dream of being confined to such a small space; they are folded in his dreams. They are sound and light, heat and brilliance; they are unrelenting power; they are soft enough to slide around the edges of his life without ever touching him, if so they choose.

They meditate, bouncing a twin note between themselves, sharing in the mysteries that they find by echolocation in its brilliance. They are bored, watching moments of Hanzo's life drift like cherry petals, critically assessing them. They drag in his wake like the long shadow of a tiny fish. They know many things. They have followed his family for generations, sometimes letting decades go by before they drift around an heir, speaking words to his or her mind, demanding to be loosed into the wind once more.  

They were idle before Hanzo and Genji. They seized again upon reality with unshakeable talons. Finally, there came a sundering under the force of their presence, men armed with things beyond men finally turning on each other. It is not the first time in Shimada family history. It was only surprising it had not happened sooner.

Currently they are paying less attention to Hanzo, because he is still, sealed in a metal capsule surrounded by a wall of swirling cold. They are paying more attention to Hanzo, because something new just happened.

 _That tasted terrible,_ says one to the other.

 _That was terrible,_ the other agrees. _Death without rot._

_Rot without death._

They twist briefly in the formless space, in a mirror of how they force themselves into the world after Hanzo's piercing ripple of energy. The bow wave to their battleship. Hanzo misses it, as he does their play and their roaring; he is living in a simple life of his senses. They demand, and he releases; his body becomes the frame, his mind the focus, to free them as far as he is able. (If he could perceive them constantly, he would have gone blind long ago.)

 _More?_ one asks the other when they subside.

Massive jaws gape, breathing in the flavors of the energies around them - the stagnant prints of Omnic presences that were here once, long ago; the off-center whirl of a little drone that could not help creating a storm;  the drift and burn of science tearing apart and poorly rebuilding a long-burning body. The sun-lit crackle of McCree's soul and the steady burn of Hanzo's spirit. _There was no tang of replication. Others of its kind may arise. But it will not make others of its kind._

They cannot look at Hanzo, since they are not existing in his space to look at him. But they both look at Hanzo. He is a ripple of energies, from here, from this distance (right beneath their noses.) He is a pattern like the waved lines of metal folded as it is forged. The bitter, banked light of his soul has expanded. The heat of his rage has altered from the unsteady drive of a wildfire to the purpose of flames shaped by bellows. Where they once sensed him dragged by obligations, they now feel him driven from the depths of its light. The new purpose colors him. Were either of them sentimental, they would find it beautiful. Flickers of him wind and blend against the sun-soaked light of the other man's reaching energies, each starting to understand that something larger is happening. They test their own sincerity as cautiously as they pursue the shape of their metal haven, as the situation they hear in their allies' voices.

The Shimada clan was very traditional, because they felt it the best way to remain attuned to the dragons. The dragons are not so interested in tradition. But they recognise the utility of some things to fleshly bodies. More specifically, the production of more of them.

 _We knew,_ said one philosophically. They both pause, looking across the vastness of reality towards the surviving Shimadas. Each is a link in a chain: a chain that has undergone a shattering.

They look at Hanzo again. The woman was expected; they were interested in her as a possible harmony throughout Hanzo's life. Not one they would interact with, but one whose energy would influence his as his shaped hers, souls winding together as they soared through life. The woman's departure was, in some sense, expected; they saw the greater pattern sooner than Hanzo did. Possibilities left with her.

 _We may need to reconsider what it is to be a Shimada_ one says finally, reluctantly. _We may have been too strict with the definition in the past._ There is a moment while they consider the webs of the physical realm. They could, they each suppose, open themselves to even distant relations of the Shimadas, the results of the briefest of associations. Neither forms the possibility. After all, it is easiest to work with a choice that has been awaiting the honor of their presence.

 _That, or let go_ the other says, or agrees. But if they leave with this generation, so much will go on, and they will have no anchor point to keep it in reference; they will be a loose part of the tumble and tumult of the spirit realm once more.

They look around. It is fascinating, but chaotic; even to their minds it is like leaning over a waterfall, staring into the churning. Past and future rush together and overrun each other in dazzling winds and twists. They look again. The two men are exhausted, two chicks in a metal shell, cradled together in the softness they have gathered. Time flows around them, and events wind in the distance, ripples spreading towards their hideaway. The future is unseen.

 _He would not adopt an unworthy heir,_ one dragon says loftily, _or at least one incapable of leading to another. The one he is choosing would also be capable of a wise choice._

 _Of course._ Never mind that the Shimadas, now and then, have birthed a generation that caused both dragons to snuggle deep into dormancy.

_We must stay, as a matter of pride._

_Of pride, and honor._

_Absolutely._

They swim steadily through the energies, keeping pace with the still bodies below (outside.) McCree slides a hand along Hanzo's neck, letting his long hair trap the warmth. They are aware of it. They are not.

_If we must consume that thing's-_

_-man's-_

_-man's-_

_-thing's-_

_-energy again, we will tear it apart next time._

_Devour._

_Consume._

They roil in determination. Pride demands nothing less.

Jesse McCree closes his eyes. As he drifts off, he can hear two voices together, low, a man and a woman, talking together. Laughing.


	23. Snowbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission, a discovery, a meeting of worlds.
> 
> And fluff, with fluff and a side of extra fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup? 
> 
> I've been too bewildered and blisteringly depressed by the current political situation to write much. 
> 
> ("Counterfeit" isn't dead, if you were wondering, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to revive it.)

Lucio didn't know where he was. Just that he was warm, like a baby sloth in a towel.

"Lucio. Lucio! Are you okay?"

"It's early, mama..."

"I'm not Mama! I'm Mei! You have to wake up!"

Lucio cracked an eyelid. The world was gray and white and, for some reason, flamingly pink around the edges. He tried to sit up. It was hard to move. Or bend. He fought his way out of the pink fluffy blanket swaddled around him.

"Am I wearing a snowsuit?" He'd been wearing layers of thermal gear when the...when the shuttle went down. Shit.

"Yes," she answers. "I was wearing a snowsuit over my snowsuit. And I had a santa hat on under my hood. I... I think we're prisoners."

Lucio sat up, rubbing his head. "Prisoners? Of who?" He looked around. They were in a storage room. There was a white, fluffy rug underfoot and a pile of throw pillows around him. "Okay. I remember we were on the way to investigate the lights that kept showing up on the satellite feed..."

"Up north. We were just over the worst of the ice, over land, when we hit a disruption of some sort. And we crashed. It turned out we landed close by the building we wanted to investigate. So I put a biotic field down on your chest and dug our way out of the snow. Then I dragged you to the door. It opened for us, but no other doors would and the lights wouldn't come on. I couldn't keep my eyes opened, so I put you down in the safest place I could find and shut my eyes for a minute. When I woke up, we were in here. At least we have lights now."

"Where's my-"

"I had to leave it," she said apologetically. "There was too much to carry. I had you, and the emergency radio, and the first aid kit, and-"

"It's okay. Where's your little buddy?"

"I'm not sure. I asked him to get some temperature readings to be sure the place was secure. It felt drafty, and I didn't want to freeze us by mistake." She shrugged. "I'm not sure why they didn't take anything. I think whoever put us here doesn't know what to do with us."

"Drafty." Lucio looked around. It was a small storage room. The walls were studded with closed air vents, hinting that the place was a honeycomb of energy-efficient heat-sharing ducts. The ceiling lights were bright but sterile. He could feel a faint vibration in the floor, as if there were an energy source further underground. The door light was on, but red, showing a lock. Nothing was moving. Nothing was happening. "Do we have food? Water?"

"I have the rations I brought..."

"Uh oh. Okay. Well, let's not panic." He walked to the door and knocked. "I think the speaker's on. Someone might be out in the hallway listening. Uh, hello? Hello? Look, we're friendly, we just stopped by. I'm Lucio, and that's Mei-Ling." Nothing. "Lucio? I'm a musician? She's a scientist... anyway, we crashed pretty hard. Even if you don't want to talk to us, maybe you could call our friends?" Nothing. He turned, sighing. "Mei, did you find a bathroom?"

"There's a little heat-sterilizing unit in the corner. I haven't wanted to mess with it yet."

Lucio crossed over to check it out. A tiny cubicle over a furnace unit, as described. "Hunh. That's odd. It's a construction type. Like, this building's fully built, the lights are on, it's inhabited, why is the construction worker's convenience still in place?" He flicked on the lever to warm it up. "Okay, plenty of juice, it wasn't even in use for all that long. Scuse me." He stepped inside and shut the tiny door. He opened it shortly after. "Still has sanitizer, too."

"Well, that's one problem." Mei shrugged her pack off. "Water is going to be an issue pretty-"

They both heard the faint bumping noise. They both froze. Mei shot him a wide-eyed look. He shook his head. They moved apart, towards the opposite walls. Nothing happened.

Then Lucio heard it: a faint tick-tack of metal on metal, coming closer. Claws? He didn't know. It was in the hall outside, no-   


"It's in the vents," he mouthed to Mei, pointing at the nearest cover. She nodded. Lucio hung back. He stared fixedly at the vent that he'd heard the sound from.

Then the vent by his head irised open. He glanced to the side and saw movement coming at his face, something small and sharp-spined. He screamed, jerking his head away as it flung something. Something with a cord and weights, he saw in the instant before it wrapped around his raised arm and head. He tripped over a box and fell, fighting with whatever it had just thrown at his head, when the vent slammed shut again. He rolled to his feet as he freed the thing.

A pair of fuzzy mittens on a long string.

"What in the-" Lucio looked from the mittens to the vent to the mittens. "Uh, thank you!"

"I think I just had a heart attack."

"Yeah, that was... that was unexpected."

"Did you see what it was?"

"Maybe a robot like your little dude, or a drone controlled by remote, or something." Lucio thumped his chest with the side of his fist, as if trying to restart his heart. "These are pretty cute, though."

"Okay. Let me get the charts out." Mei started digging through her pockets and came up with a map. She spread it out. "This is for geothermal power in the region. The lights were here, we hit a disturbance around here..."

"It kind of felt like an old anti-spying field. It'd have to be hooked up to some heavy juice in order to knock down a shuttle, even a self-flying one." They both looked up at a new sound. A heavy, wool blanket was being shoved through one of the vents. It came out in a spill of plaid. "Uh, thanks."

"But we're not near any geothermal hot spots at all. It's too cloudy and stormy for solar to be effective, and the light is very dim this time of year. Maybe there's an underwater current that's being harvested, but we are far away from the water, and it seems too likely something would freeze solid."

"Nuclear?"

 "That does leave nuclear."

"Whoever captured us wants us to be comfortable. So..." Lucio crossed to the door again. "Food? Can we get some food in here?" Nothing. They looked at each other. "Pretty please?" Nothing.

"The building style is pretty old," Mei said. "And in a building this far north, you'd usually have artificial sunlight banks and wall displays to help to counteract depression. I mean, all I've seen so far is a dark hallway and a storeroom, but it doesn't feel like this place has been made... habitable."

"Air's still good," Lucio said. He was starting to get unnerved, too, but he didn't want to show it. Mei was going to keep a stoic face no matter how scared she got. "Let's just take a little break and check over what we have."

Lucio dug through his pockets as Mei took stock of any boxes they could get open with their bare hands. He came up with a sewing kit, a compass (spinning,) and a few other odds and ends. He wasn't expecting to find anything, but he still felt let down.

"How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad. This is all? Well, let's start opening." They found nothing but dusty tools and parts, decayed plastic and old paper. Finally, Lucio shrugged. "Let's get some sleep."

When he woke up, he was lying with an overstuffed comforter draped over him. He looked to Mei, who had fallen asleep with her face on her journal, and had a fuzzy teddy bear on the back of her neck. "Hey, Mei. The fuzz fairy was here again."

"Did I fall asleep? Oh! I'm sorry! I was trying to watch out."

"I'm starting to think they can put something in the air. Hey, can you not drug us, please?"

"There's something new." Mei went to a big, red bag. "It's... batteries."

"Batteries?"

She waved a bricklike thing at him. "Batteries. Charged. And a couple fuel cells, the multi-use kind. They're pretty small, but they look good too."

"Okay," Lucio said. "Let's see if I can guess. Omnica tried putting something here, back in the day. Maybe a prototype, or something. And... something went wrong, the place ended up sealed off, and all that lives here now is an Omnic with droid friends. Who's scared shitless of us. Am I right?"

Silence.

"Okay, just a hint? Am I getting warmer?"

Silence. Then a scarf plopped from another vent.

"Not that kind of warmer-"

They both jumped up as the door opened. Mei's robot whirred through with a digital expression of joy typed on its screen. It whirled around her in a bright, cold circle and clamped into place on her back. The door stood open. Mei walked toward it. When Lucio approached, it closed and locked.

"It's okay! He's with me!"

Lucio took two steps back. The door opened. He looked at Mei's concerned face. "Hang on." He pulled on the snowsuit, one scarf, and the fuzzy mittens. The door unlocked and opened.

"This is weird," Mei said, but held out a hand. He took mitten in mitten, and they stepped outside.

"What is that?"

It was the size of a small dog, shaped roughly like one, with spidery legs and an egglike face. It was really, really creepy, but Lucio was pretty sure he understood what it was. He hummed a few bars of a song, trying to find a pattern it liked, and then knelt down. "Hey, there. We're not gonna hurt you."

"It understands," Mei said slowly as it solemnly put one lifted, metal claw in Lucio's mitten. "It's..."

"It's an Omnic. This must be an early Omnium. But it doesn't get supplies, so the central brain must have created its own designs. And then something happened..." He gave a little wave as more started to crawl out of the vents. "Wow. There's, uh, there's a lot of them." They were all moving with the same graceful, wary hesitation.

"Yeah, there are." She grabbed his hand again, although her voice stayed calm. "Something. Just a breakdown, caused by weather, or water getting in?"

"I think so. So they don't know anything about humans, besides that we need to be warm."

"Until my research assistant went and made contact with them."

"I doubt it has the supplies to continue construction. This doesn't sound like an Omnium." He tried to walk forward, deeper into the building, but they didn't move.  

"We need Zenyatta," Mei said. "Let's see if they'll let us into a comms station."

They started trying doors. The tiny Omnics moved with them like anxious crabs, a clicking wave that nonetheless never got too close. "Got it! But it's locked." Lucio joined Mei, who was staring up at a big sign that read: "COMMUNICATIONS."

"Can you let us in? Please?" The nearest Omnics looked at each other. "Uh... Mei, how can we get their trust? More than you have it, because of their buddy?"

"Did you have a sewing kit earlier?"

Which was how Mei and Lucio ended up sitting back in the storage room, Lucio cutting out cloth and Mei sewing.

"You're really good at that!"

"I helped fix clothes when I was little. You learn, when you don't have a lot of money. You take nice stitches."

"It's just like making doll clothes. Okay, let's find one that will let us close." Mei carefully knelt down near the leader, placing the cape on its back and the little scarf once around its neck. It stood on its hind spikes. She pulled her fingers back hastily, but it just pinned the scarf in place, turned with perfect balance, and tapped away like a terrifying scissors ballerina. The two followed.

"It's meant to climb on ice, isn't it?" Lucio asked. "Holy -- they're meant to go outside. I wonder what they do?"

"I think we might find out," Mei answered. "But first..." the door stood open. Mei grabbed his hand again. "Let's go tell our friends we're okay."


	24. Desolator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunshine falls on the ashes. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY THERE ARE WARNINGS 
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: 
> 
> AFTERMATH ALL THE AFTERMATH. And *takes deep breath* Possession, implied cannibalism, implied animal abuse, implied or stated animal mutilation, implied or stated animal deaths, implied or stated violence, demon shenanigans, Reaper violence, self-harm, implied cutting, loss of control of one's actions, suicidal ideation, mention of suicide, hospitalization for mental health, and all-around implications. 
> 
> What I'm trying to say is: if you have any doubts whatsoever about your happiness with horror content, please hit the back button on this one. The fluff train will roll around again eventually.

The charm bracelet is heavy on his wrist. He reaches down, stroking each piece. An enameled cherry blossom. A tiny silver feather. Two dragons. A pewter pair of spurs. One dragon twisting alone. A series of holy symbols. A missile. A raven. His life, his lifelines, his life. He will never again let their importance slide. He will never again let a presence seal away the dragons. 

The house can't be put on the market for another six months, of course. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Pharah has planted new rows of plants around the edge of the property. The smell is thick and heavy. He didn't want to come back. He must come back. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. The houses to either side stand empty, windows dark, For-Sale signs swaying in the breeze. One of them had children. He hopes their therapy is progressing well. The other owned the dogs. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. He is surprised they didn't burn his house down on their way out. Perhaps they had come to swear at the walls of the mental hospital instead.

He steps inside. The wall was mended. Reinhardt? A few steps in, and he can see the back of someone's head, their shoulders. Screeching feeling down his spine, possession is nine-tenths of the law, only a few people can walk into his house now. The person is standing, looking down at the tabletop. He wants them to turn. He wants to run. This is his house. He clears his throat. Gabriel swivels, staring, wide-eyed.

"It is only me," he says.

Gabriel nods. "Thought you were out until the evening. Figured you would want to buy fresh vegetables." Hanzo is a vegetarian now. Everyone knows it. He lets out a slow breath. Hanzo crosses, lighting a cigarette as he goes. He murmurs a soft prayer as he sits. They glance automatically at the shelves of the shrine freshly built in the kitchen.

"You are welcome. But why are you here?" He runs his fingers across the gouges in the tabletop. There's a pair of censers resting on the tabletop. Oh. That's why.

"Jesse's coming back. Don't fuck it up."

His laugh is harsh in his throat. But he goes to the shrine and gets the incense. "I will do what I can." He fills both censers and lights them. Gabriel picks one. He takes the other, putting his cigarette out regretfully. The doorframe is still broken. He meant to repair it before he left.

Gabriel shoots him a look. "You want to sell it. You know the ritual importance."

"I do," he says, defensive to both, looking into the smoking censer. Gabriel has made his point. They track quietly down the narrow hallway. The windows are repaired, the blood cleaned from the floor, the bird feet long swept out of every crack and corner. Gabriel says nothing, watching the smoke pour like a liquid and break apart in their wake. Hanzo wonders if it can truly be healing for him, seeing that effect. He wonders if it's a sacrifice made for his sake. The thought stops him, filling him with nausea. Gabriel gives him a side glance and reaches out, firmly moving him along. Hanzo pushes his thoughts aside and focuses on moving his feet.

The living room is empty without its furniture. It broke things here. It broke Jesse's leg. It broke every picture that Genji had given him. It broke every arrow he had made with his own hands. He can still see it, everything he saw moving behind his eyelids, blurry and nonsensical as the day he watched. They circle the room three times and move into the next. This was going to be the study. He was going to put things here: books, scrolls, wall hangings. There is a scorch mark on the bare floor. They have tried to replace the floor twice.

"Do you have the money now?"

"Yes." He will try again. A third try. The staff at the hospital would approve. The censers swing from steady hands. He has not touched a bottle since he looked up from the sword through his gut to Genji's compassionate eyes. Green burn through his soul, agony -- but soul fire bright enough to call his dragons back. He wants a drink now, so badly that he would sit and tremble had he not something better to do. A first lap of the room. A second lap. A third, a third try. The next room. He should take the pieces of the mirror and make mosaics of his silhouette, of Gabriel's. For the sake of ritual. For meaning. 

McCree tore the door off its hinges crashing in to save him that first awful night. The floor is clean of broken glass and pottery. Hanzo's body still bears the scars. He touches one. It did happen; the door did splinter and collapse; he did look up as if through water to see McCree begging him to put the broken bottle down. It all feels like a dream and it's all real. For a long time, he worked to stay so exhausted he did not dream, because when he awoke he could not trust it didn't happen. 

"Keep moving," Gabriel says. "Keep moving." He obeys, forcing his feet through another step. Another. Perhaps none of this is worth it.

"I will fill the house with incense and holy water and burn it all down."

"You will not. We've been over this. Ritually speaking, it counts as your body for another six months. Remember how hard Pharah fought for you."

Pharah had been the one to perceive the demon. Reinhardt and Genji had been driven away first. He cannot imagine what it said to Genji, who came back for him the first time, even after what he did. Who came back for him the second. He wishes for peace. Quiet. He cannot do that to Genji. Not another loss. "Do you think about it?"

"Every fucking day."

"Your demon was different." He woke up and the world was different. He woke up and he had done what he had done. He woke up and he thought it was _gone_ instead of toying with him, cat and mouse, letting him realize that he couldn't stop it. He woke up and: the blood on his hands was a surprise. That envious first day, moving through the house, listening to boards creaking and doors slamming and thinking somehow he could resist when it finally closed in on him. 

"Yeah. That doesn't help."

It had started with Genji. It had been the most subtle with Genji. It had known Genji would find a way to destroy it if he knew, as their mother could not. Last lap of the room. Hallway. Bathroom. He can remember how his futile struggles still distracted it. He can remember seeing his reflection as he downed the pills. It had left his body in the shower and gone to haunt McCree from room to room to room. Then it had come back to save its vessel by making it home again. He stares into the smoke.

They had thought Reaper had been terrible. Ha.

"Keep moving."

"Why?"

"Because this is routine now. This is what you have to do. So we do it. And later, there's time for breakdowns." There's not really room to circle the bathroom, definitely not with both at once. Reyes stands in the door and waits for him. "You'll want this ritual all the rest of your life. Might as well make it part of you."

Hanzo shudders, looking down at his hands. He folds the right one into a fist, turning his hand to move the stump of his little finger out of sight. "How can he look at us?"

"I don't know." Gabriel shoulders him aside, not hard, just keeping him moving, and starts pacing the bathroom instead. Hanzo watches the smoke swirl and plume behind him, friendlier and grayer than how he had been all that time. Reaper had a simple agenda. He wanted revenge. He wanted to do murder. The demon wanted suffering.

He'd spent hours kneeling in the dining room, petrified, as if it couldn't see him if he didn't move. That had been senseless. Childish. It had also been... the fourth day? So of course his thinking had been impaired by that point. Days of hunger, followed by a stomach full of dog meat, did that. 

It had liked meat-

"Gabriel," he blurts. Gabriel understands, claps a hand hard on his shoulder. The jolt is nearly painful but it's what he needs to ground him. Tears are tracking his face. He wipes them away.

"Move," says Gabriel. "Your body. Draw the edges."

Hanzo nods. He doesn't know if the muscle he can still see at the edge of his imagination is dog. Is part of a forearm. He doesn't want to know, please, _please_ let that never come back. The air is cool on his face, on his neck. He's sweating. He breathes incense, heady and swirling and nonetheless clean. McCree was wise to run; it had wanted more. The smoke coats his tongue. He can taste nothing else, remember the taste of nothing else. It is glorious.

The trapdoor thumps open, and he backs away, eyes squeezed shut.

"Move," Gabriel says, "come on. You can do it."

"Shut up." When he opens his eyes, Gabriel is still looking at him. His face is impassive but his eyes are like Genji's. Hanzo swears. The censer in his hand is dancing on its chain. He swallows. He wants to throw it down but-

"Your home, your body, your space," Gabriel reminds him. "Draw the edges."

"Why are you here?"

"Who else?"

Hanzo steps on the first step. The wood thunks underfoot in a jarring, familiar sound, and he sinks down to sit on the edge of the stairs. His sobs are ragged. Helpless. They tear out of him like a dragon's snort, unstoppable. Gabriel moves the censer around him once, whether in reminder or ritual he doesn't know. Hanzo stands, shakily. The next step is easier. The one after that easier still.

The table is gone. The handcuffs. The skinned bodies of the dogs. The bloodstains, the knives. There are still cans of aerosol scent neutralizer empty by the door. He still thinks he smells rotting flesh. The chain chafes over the stump of his little finger. He adjusts his hold. "I wish I'd been able to say goodbye to her," Hanzo says. "She bought us so much time. Years and years."

"She died a hero."

He can almost see her in the parts of the incense. Their mother, cherry petals falling in her hair, laughing in the sunlight. She must have been warned about it. He had known since her death that she had leaped. He had not known that she leaped with it bound in her body until... until after it had snarled the story in Genji's face. He had not been allowed to be aware for that. It did not want him to know that would slow it down.

He makes the third lap. Gabriel pulls Hanzo's arm over his shoulder and helps him back up the stairs. Up the next flight. Just two more rooms.

Spare bedroom. This is where Gabriel had fought him to a standstill. He looks up at the new scars on the side of Gabriel's chin. They're healed but still bright.

"No," Gabriel says. "They don't hurt. Walk."

The demon had actually had to use him for part of the fight, tear into his soul until he was near mad with pain and turn him loose on the only person nearby he might force to stop it. He'd damn near killed Gabriel. He finds himself rubbing his breastbone. Gabriel had damn near killed him. His body feels too light and too fragile as he thinks of it. They are soul and meat entwined together. The demon had shown him this clearly; it had taught him what teeth felt like in his flesh, compared to an eating at his soul. The scrape of Reaper's appetite had been unable to truly hurt him, while he lived. It had horrified him at  the time, and that was before he knew what the sensation was. Now, sometimes, the memory comes to him and he knows he will not sleep for days. Gabriel lifts his chin, and he opens his eyes to find he's pressed his other hand over the stump of his finger, censer's chain wrapped twice around his fist, wrist pressing the charms of the bracelet into his flesh.

"Walk."

He walks. Gabriel walks with him. He had thought he knew the depths on that second day of waking, the fear of opening the door and searching the house for clues as to what he'd done. He had known nothing.

"How can I not fuck this up?" he demands. He opens and closes his hand, imagining he was able to hold hands with Jesse on that side one more time. "How can he look at me?"  

"I don't know."

He doesn't know. Hanzo doesn't know. They know the raw feeling, like the inside of a throat after seawater has been coughed out, of waking to find a presence has ripped itself out. They know the dread of being unable to open a door and see what changed overnight. People have left buildings because Hanzo stood with his back to them and they could not stand the thought of him turning around with a twisted face. People have screamed because Gabriel moved suddenly.

As terrible as it was, Hanzo knows in some ways he moved in the eye of the storm. Neither of them truly know. Neither of them have quite seen it from the other side. They have glimpsed, yes. Hanzo turned Reaper to smoke. Gabriel cornered Hanzo's body as the demon shrieked. But they have not known. 

Bedroom. Gabriel reaches out and drags him in.

"Who did this for you?" Hanzo asks as his feet start moving.

"Reinhardt."

Of course. Reinhardt had been the one to stop them from moving him, to guide the paramedics to his body. Hanzo moves with him. He wonders if Gabriel liked the mental hospital as much as he did, its routines and therapy and medications to blunt the worst of the aftermath. It had been a safe bubble. If this breaks him again, he will be content there.

"Two."

The bed is gone, of course. There was no saving it. The mirror still crunches underfoot now and then. They have swept and vacuumed a thousand times. The bloody strands of brown hair the demon left on the wall are long cleaned away. The walls are repaired. There is a new light fixture in the ceiling. It almost makes the room look a different room. 

"That's it. Keep walking."

Three. He's done. He can stop. He can rest. "My brother," Hanzo says. The censer hits the floor. "My brot-" Gabriel holds him.

"He answered a call the other day," Gabriel says. "He still isn't talking, but he listened. I told him McCree is coming back to town. Maybe you should visit your brother next."

He can finally speak through the sobs. "I do not deserve it."

"He came to free you because he thought you were worth it. I'd say you're worth being visited by."

"If the Shambali," Hanzo starts, but his throat closes. He shakes his head. Too far.

Gabriel picks up the censer. Some incense has spilled on the floor. Gabriel dusts it patiently back into captivity. He hangs the censers to burn themselves out.  Hanzo finds he is tracing the bracelet's charms again and again. He reaches up to Gabriel's back. Gabriel goes still. Hanzo pushes his hand across his shoulders, finding the seam he's looking for. Only three lines still, regular and even.

"Have you just been more careful?"

"Yes."

He cannot help. On another day, he might. Might drive away the regrets with a pain Gabriel can't ignore. Someday Gabriel might even be past the need for his help.

"Let's go outside. We will look at the flowers Pharah has planted."

"You need to fix the doorframe," Gabriel says again as they move. "It's symbolic." Hanzo lifts one foot at the door. A thousand little reflections glint at him. He taps the side of his foot against the doorframe to sift mirror dust back on the bedroom floor.

Standing outside, they hear Gabriel's datapad sound with an incoming call. They both know the ringtone. "Answer it," Hanzo says shakily.

"I can't," Gabriel says. They stand quietly, as if McCree will know they are hiding if they move, avoiding eye contact with each other, until the sound dies away.


	25. Agonist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji moves.

The fall. The fall. The wet. The salt.

He finally becomes aware enough to know he dreams:

_"Everyone is the hero of their own story," Hanzo says loftily._

_"You're supposed to be a merchant," Genji says, kicking his heels on the bench. "You sound like you think you're the king. Try saying it differently."_

_"Differently how?" Hanzo shakes the script. "I am doing the best I can to be loud and clear!"_

_"I don't know! You're doing it, how can I tell you not to do it? Put different weights on the words."_

_Hanzo frowns at the script. "Everyone is the_ hero _of their own story. Every one is the hero of their_ story. Every _-"_

_"It's just a school play! Aah, stop thinking so hard. We'll never get to my scene."_

_"You are a tree."_

_"I am a wonderful tree! I will steal the show!"_

_**_

The fall. The fall. Looking up to see his brother's dragons screaming over the balcony edge. Graved into his mind, although he cannot think; he is too hurt. Red? Blue? Vibrant against the sky. The fall. The water. Pain, cold. Salt.

His body is cold. Terribly cold. There is salt in his mouth. Bright gold moves above him, against the light, like a cloud. He can see... eyes like the sky. Bright, bright eyes. He stares into them and remembers the fall.

**

He dreams.

_The teacher is nice-eyed and bright-smiling. She is not familiar, yet, with Japan. She does not understand who the Shimada really are._

_"Oh!" she says. "This is Hanzo's little brother! I hope you do just as well as he does." Genji scowls. He knows his grades are typically a letter grade below Hanzo's. This semester, they will stay that way._

**

_His family is having a meeting just through that door and down the stairs. Genji steps up onto the railing. To his side is a dizzying drop to the sea. He strolls a few casual steps and does a cartwheel. The girl claps._

_Hanzo appears in a swirl of color, eyes burning red and blue, and just as Genji thinks_ -this did not hap- _Hanzo throws him from the railing with a dragon's roar. Genji falls._

**

"Hello. I'm-"

It hurts to talk. He can't get enough air for more than a few syllables. "Gabriel Reyes." He is lightheaded with getting that out in one breath.

"You tried to kill me in-"

"Tokyo."

"And I'm here because-"

"Hire me."

"I'll expect better work than goddamn Tokyo."

"Yes."

"Jack says Angela's already had to add to what you've got." Gabriel's gaze has never drifted down to the bank of blinking lights and tubes that Genji knows he is sealed into. He cannot move his arm. He is too weak. "Can you stand that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

" _Rematch._ "

"Just a rematch?"

"Revenge."

"Good, because your brother didn't do that alone."

It is not heroic. He has not claimed to be a hero. He says it again. "Revenge."

**

He dreams.

_"Who's that?" asks the little girl. Genji turns to see Hanzo coming through the doors, spine straight, chin up, arms full of medals._

_He says it with all his usual pride. "That's my brother." And he does not bother to attend his event._

**

The fall. The fall.

He is terrified of falling, now, as he stands on shaky legs. They are strong, the tubing supplies pressure perfectly, they will not drop him; but they are not his. They do not seem real. Even the pressure in his back does not feel quite right.

"You'll be all right," Mercy says.

"How would you know?" Genji demands. She has no answer, and he punches the wall in frustration. He sways. She catches him before he falls. She is, after all, a hero.

**

He feels like a prop. A thing. Everyone is the hero of their story; if so, his tale is told. The only tale now is a ghost story, in which a corrupt and old family is taken down by a shadow in the night. A formless, nameless nightmare that is only there so they will show who they are against it.

"I know you don't want to hear it," Reyes says, "but you're pushing yourself too hard."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Genji-"

"I don't."

The light gleams off the tight curls of Reyes' hair as he turns to go. Genji watches him from sight. It is strange to have such proportions, still. Mercy gave him his old frame. He looks down. He is all cables and rods, blinking lights and bending joints. He is not silent. He hisses with every step. Each footfall is a clunk.

He starts the exercise again. He does not fall.

**

"This isn't something you can fight me on," Reyes says. "This is my organization. What I say goes. If you want to be permanently benched with Mercy, well, that's an option. Sit your ass down and rest up."

"Who are you to order me? When did I say I would serve you? Of course I can fight you."

"If you push it, I'm canceling next week's exercise after all."

"What?"

"You've been demanding a fight ever since the first time we let you have a human sparring partner, which is when you damn near ripped her arm off-"

"-it was not intentional!"

"I know! Shut up! You're going to have to learn control, and guess what, there are two people durable enough to just straight-up spar you until you have yourself straightened out."

"So," Genji says, "if I do not fight with you, then as a reward, you will condescend to fight with me."

Reyes' lip twitches a tiny bit on one side. "You've got it."

"I will see you next week." Genji sits down.

**

 _The fall. The fall. The salt. The water._ He sees them over and over again in his mind.

**

Sometimes when Mercy gives him medications to one port or another, he can taste them. He asks for more dilution, so first she tries diluting with simple saline solution. He can taste the salt in his mouth. Mercy bites her lip when he snarls at her. She puts on her mask and keeps working.  

**

"Well, howdy," a new voice says. Genji looks up. A cowboy hat, a friendly grin, a slump to his shoulders like he's humble... which Genji doesn't believe for a moment.

"I have seen you on the practice range," Genji says. "You want to be the best." A beat. "You are not."

"Naw," he agrees. "What about you?"

"I am also not the best," he concedes, standing. "...but I am better than you." It does not work. When he saw McCree's practice he was sure this was a drive like Hanzo's, shot after shot as Hanzo strove to place bulls-eyes or deliver perfect strikes. It isn't. He cannot tease it into roaring at him so easily.

McCree doesn't blink, doesn't flush. He does deliver a wink. "You sure about that? Let's go hit the range."

Genji concedes long enough to go along with him. But he will get a fight out of McCree, when he wants one.

**

His revenge is a long red line torn through his family history. A series of victories, all salt as tears. He imagines the ground sown so nothing will grow, bare earth, dust.

He fights with his dreams, with the dragons that tear his body apart nightly, with the memories and the weight. He strikes, again and again, forcing counterattacks.

**

Commander Reyes can be, in his way, kind. Genji is not. Genji demands movement, consequence, needs action to feel alive. Reyes demands results. Their pairing is a long arc ending in a sudden, crushing spin, like a thrown bola. Genji loves him, in a way; the way of air parting around a sword blade, or the need of a fire for oxygen.

He pushes Reyes back when Reyes offers a scrap of comfort, of understanding. Reyes knows what it's like to fear the change of his body; but Reyes is beautiful in a flesh-and-blood way, and Genji will have none of his sympathy. Even when people fear Reyes, they need him. He has never been alien.

**

Jesse McCree is, in his way, a kind man. His charm is the charm of someone who admires kindness, hangs about the window staring in at kindness, would like to be able to afford it. Genji does not wish for him to have the luxury. Genji attacks relentlessly, sparking and spitting, forcing McCree to push back.

**

The brother who fought to kill him now fights to mourn him.  
  
The first time he sees it, Genji hangs far back, watching his brother burn incense. Hanzo is driven away near dawn. Genji scatters the incense and the offerings, screaming in rage, and turns when guards come running in to stop him. He does not fight them; he slaughters them.

**

The salt. The fall.

"Be sure of what you're doing, Genji," the Commander says. Genji looks down at the body. Up at him. He reaches down and gathers a hand of salt and sand from the shore. He scours the Blackwatch symbol from his chest, and turns away.

Reyes does not move to stop him. Genji did not expect him to.

**

The fall. The fall.

He reaches out and steadies the Omnic. The Omnic swings around, steadying him in turn as the platform trembles. Genji does not need it, but he allows it, for the sake of the first friendly touch in a long while. "Peace be upon you," the Omnic says, and waits patiently through Genji's wild laughter.

**

The salt.

His past is a wound he thought would never close. But the years sink around him, slow but certain, and he starts to feel sympathy for the man raised to turn on his own brother. Hanzo has torn free of his cage, but is not any closer to freedom than before. Blackwatch falls, burning bright, and scatters into pieces that will never regrow. Genji mourns for the fire of Gabriel, for the blaze of Jesse, lost. His tears are salt and fall and are gone.

**

The fall.

The fall of the barriers that hold Overwatch back. The Petras Act did not salt the earth. The story goes on, and it has many heroes. He decides he is not one of them. He is still a shadow, he is still a curve of metal at the side of a metal monk. He thinks, perhaps, it is Jesse's story. But one day, as the anniversary swings around, it clicks.

It is Hanzo's story. Hanzo is the one unable to move forward, in pain, and with a world in need of his power.

He cannot make peace with Hanzo. But he can make Hanzo fight.

**

And Hanzo fights.

**

Reaper is not a kind man. Neither is Genji. "Are you sure of what you are doing?"

"Don't second-guess me." The mask swings away dismissively.

"I-"

"You used me as much as you wanted." Reaper clomps across the narrow beam towards him. "You skipped off to play. You left me to become this. The time to try heroics is past. I have work to do, Genji. Stand aside."

"This work of yours," Genji says. "Does it require this?" He holds up the little silver button.

"Where did you get that."

"I did not think you truly needed it. So I borrowed it. Sometimes, I used to hate you, you know."

"I had a feeling. You used to hate everyone. I don't want to fight you, Genji. Hand it over."

"I knew you tried, but could not truly understand," Genji says. "I knew your body had never horrified you. Never made you feel trapped and wrong. Never-" Reaper says nothing, but he draws a shotgun. "-never been someone else's work, made beyond your control. As if you were a puppet."

"I never did that to you. Stand. Down."

"No," Genji says. "No, you did not. And so we will fight." The shotgun booms over his head as he dodges. "You are welcome."

**

So much pain, dealt by someone who once spent a long time worrying about the parts of his design that could be abused. Salt in the wound. Genji hears Reaper's footsteps fall behind him. He can barely move, but he keeps crawling. He is defeated. He will throw himself over the cliff. The sea will take him. His soul will be safe.

A clawed hand grabs his ankle and pulls him back. He rolls over."You win, you little shit," Reaper says, leveling the gun at his head. Genji stares, listening to his breath hiss out through the cracks in his rib armor.

The arrow. The dragons. The red, or the blue, sweeping through the sky and tearing into Reaper. He staggers. And then: the fall. Genji cries out as he sees it. He knows how he feels, he knows, and he cries for Reaper burning to dust and falling to the sea. Hanzo stumbles to him, scrambling to call for Mercy. Reaper will awaken alone and injured in a strange body. Genji is sorry. He is so sorry. Then Hanzo's face is over him. "Brother."

"You will be all right." Hanzo's gaze scans him desperately. He is helpless against internal injury in the first place, much less to this mechanical miracle of a body. "She's on her way. Hang on. Just hang on."

"Brother-"

"Don't talk." Hanzo presses his palms over the larger crack to seal in air and fluid. "Don't talk."

"Tell-" it hurts as much as it once did. "Story."

"Once there was a child who was going to grow to be a hero," Hanzo says, leaning down to press his forehead against the visor. "His name was Genji."


	26. Graduate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character study: Gabriel Reyes, at 17, takes a fork in the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Contains a threatening and violent situation with an estranged abuser.

The tension in the air is thicker than the laughter from outside. Gabriel Reyes drops the certificate of early graduation back in its envelope. He looks up from his straw. He reaches out, firmly poking a fingertip between the eyebrows of a cousin and pushing her back from the table. "Nuh uh. Uncle Matt said, don't touch." 

"I was just looking!" 

"No," he says firmly. She sticks her tongue out and retreats. Gabriel shakes his head. It's not a toy. It's an ugly-ass shotgun, battered and... is that rust? It's all business, though. 

The doors and windows are wide open. No point in trying to keep air conditioning in the house with so many people coming and going. Gabe casts a look over his shoulder. Back in the garage, the cars are waiting. He's been glad to get the last classes out of the way, and fucking qualify. He was _bored._

"So what are you going to do with your early summer?" Matt comes out of the kitchen, beer in hand. It's not open. He's taking this invitation just as seriously as Mama. He rubs a hand over his dark brow. It comes away wet. He's been working in the garage. "High school all over at seventeen. Got a job lined up?" 

"Nah. I was thinking of working in-" 

"The Omnics are taking everyone's jobs," says Catalina, stomping out into the garage. "There's not _shit_ here. Not even art." She grabs her bag and is gone into the sunlight. Gabriel glances after her. She's right. He's lost his theatre job because a damn Omnic didn't require sleep. None of his applications have gotten calls back yet. 

 "LA's turning to tin," Matt says regretfully. He puts a hand on the shotgun. "Think we should keep this in the garage?" 

"I'll take it." He reaches out, glad to get it out of sight of the kids. It's heavy in his hand. He notices Matt relax, as it if were a rattlesnake moving back into the wilderness. Gabriel steps into the garage. Music's blasting, his Dad's classics. 

 Everyone's trying to pretend everything is great. Everything is normal. But Kiara's ex is out of prison. Mama told her to come stay for a while. She told her to keep _quiet_ about it. But Gabriel's got serious misgivings about that. His house is a busy place in the neighborhood. People like to talk. Not everyone understands about Kiara's ex. He was good at keeping up appearances. He was good at undermining Kiara. He was good at-

 Whatever. Gabriel puts the shotgun down in the trunk. Matt's laugh comes from outside. Teens get off the bus. Gabriel grabs his drink and a basketball and goes to meet them. Just because they have less and less in common doesn't mean he can't be neighborly. 

 "I'm gonna enlist as soon as I graduate," Zeke is saying. 

 "That's dumb," Daria is frank. "We don't need soldiers. We can be all peaceful and humane and shit. We don't have to kill each other. We can just mass-produce Bastions and put them down anywhere we want a battlefield. Instant war, just add bullets. Whoever runs out of money first loses, no casualties."

 "I'm sick of hearing about Omnics." Gabriel bounces the ball. "Let's play." 

 They play until they get bored with it. Kiara and her daughter are dropped off by-

 -is that her cousin? Her cousin, who kind of... sided with that asshole? Not obviously, but with a lot of damn sympathy considering what the court decided he did. Gabriel's got some misgivings, but the cousin leaves without talking to them, and nobody seems to think twice about it. Gabriel's cousins take Kiara's kid upstairs. Gabriel waits on the porch for a while, watching the neighborhood. But he steps back in the garage. Nothing's happening.

 The antique cars were his dad's projects, and he actually wants to finish them and sell them, like Dad always said he would. Gabriel has been watching vids and reading old manuals. It's still not easy; there are belts that all look the same, parts that don't fit, tools that don't grip right. He lets himself settle into work as AC/DC fills the garage with the memory of his father's voice and his grandfather's answering rumble. It's not like he has a job to get to, or school tomorrow. Worries about where else he can possibly apply drift away. He'll get a scholarship if he has to, move up into higher education and find something to work towards. There's a good chance it won't be taken by a damn Omnic by the time-

 -the gunshot cracks. There's screams. The wrench he was using vanishes into the depths of the hood. Gabriel moves for the door on fast, silent feet. Staying back, he sways to see through it. 

 Kiara's facing her nightmare, her hands clutched in front of her chest, her mouth moving in a mumbled prayer, her face streaking with tears and snot. Gabriel sees her, places her, and leans enough to see her ex. He's not talking. He's got his arm up, a pistol aimed at her. The ceiling light is still jumping, and plaster is still falling, from where he fired into the ceiling. Gabriel's cousins could still be upstairs. They could be behind Kiara on the other side of the wall. Gabriel can hear him shouting, now that he's further from the stereo. Mama is standing off to one side, in the door, her eyes huge and a grocery bag in her hand. She's got no cover. She's right in plain sight. Gabriel backs up before he's seen. 

 He looks around. He already knows what his only option is. The gun feels about four times as heavy when he gets it out of the trunk. He's never fired one. It doesn't look that hard. He flips it over, looking for a safety. There's a switch that says ON in white. Does that mean the gun is on? Or the safety is on? He shakes himself. It's a decades-old shotgun that fires basic gunpowder shells. It can't have any circuits. He turns it to OFF in red. 

 He comes back into the doorway. Kiara's ex is still shouting. He's threatening everything he can think of. Gabriel waits. There's a chance he might wear himself down -- but the muzzle just swept right over Mama. She's been staring at him like she's hypnotized, but she looks past at Gabriel when he steps forward. Gabriel holds up his hand, palm to the ground, and lowers it. The guidance snaps her out of shock. She drops flat. 

 Kiara's ex starts to turn toward Mama. Gabriel levels the shotgun. "Put it down." 

 The man jerks his head around. That's not important. He sees his arm twitch. That's not important. He sees rage twist his face. That's not important either. What's important are his eyes. They flick towards Gabriel, full of purpose, and he starts to turn.

 That matters.

 Gabriel makes a decision. 

 He was prepared for the kick, but not the noise or the flash. His ears ring. Kiara's ex goes from man to bloody mess instantly. He wasn't ready for that, somehow. He knew it wasn't going to be like on TV. He didn't know it was like this. Kiara staggers, swaying like she's going to faint, but she stays on her feet. Gabriel glances up at shrieks from upstairs. Mama gets up, shaking and staring. Gabriel goes to the table. It's got a bright checked tablecloth on it, all ready for company. He pulls it off and drops it over the body, just in case the asshole's biological daughter runs down the stairs. He can't do shit about the wall. The wall's gonna scare the kids. 

 "Mama," he says. "I have to check on the kids. Can you call the cops?" 

 When he goes upstairs, he can hear crying. Fear hits him, like it hasn't up until now, and he calls. They come running. All of them are okay. He tells them they're safe, everyone is safe, but they have to stay upstairs. Kiara's daughter is sobbing like she guessed. His cousins wrap their arms around each other in a dense knot. It looks like they'll stay put. When he gets downstairs again, Kiara is moving towards the stairs with Uncle Matt. She's wiped her face, and she looks focused on reaching her daughter. Mama's still on the phone. She's trying to take deep breaths, trying to be calm, but there's a body on the floor. 

  _It doesn't matter how safe your hiding place is,_  Gabriel thinks, _if you tell one wrong person_.

 Mama finishes the call. She hangs up the phone and comes over to hold him and cry on his shoulder. "Are you okay, baby? Are you okay?" 

 "I'm fine." It's true. His hands aren't shaking. Nothing he expected to happen, happened. He just killed a man. He's fine. If he hadn't spoken up, Kiara would be dead. Maybe Mama. If he hadn't pulled the trigger, he'd be dead. Kiara would be dead. Mama might. He doesn't have any doubt it was the right call. He's almost confused that everyone's so freaked out. What else was he going to do? 

 The police come. Kiara's statement isn't very coherent. She's pretty smart in most ways, but she's been living in terror ever since it looked like her ex might get out. The shock's thrown her off badly. Matt was out getting the barbecue started. He's deeply ashamed that he didn't stay inside. His head's bowed, and he seems to think Gabriel's got a huge burden on his shoulders. Mama's statement is pretty accurate, but when she started moving, her mind was just starting to catch up to the situation and she's not sure what happened besides Gabriel's voice, and movement, and a gunshot. 

 Gabriel feels like he's in the center of some kind of emotional storm. One man, one asshole with a grievance and an insulted sense of power, came and wrecked everything for everyone. The worst is that they all seem to be sorry for _him_. The cops aren't interested in pressing charges, since Kiara's ex followed Kiara, with a gun. Gabriel hadn't thought of that possibility when he picked up the gun. Now he sees he should have. It doesn't matter. He would have done the same thing. 

 They get the cousins out of the house through the back door, and an ambulance takes the body away. Gabriel gets a sponge and gloves and starts cleaning up the blood. 

"You don't have to do that," Matt says.

 "Yeah, I do." He looks up. "It's got to be done." 

 "Isn't this a crime scene, or something?" 

Gabriel shakes his head. "He died before he could make it one." 

"Kid," Matt says, half in fear, "you got ice in your veins. Are you in shock? Is this shock?"

"I don't think so," Gabriel says. "Who else is going to clean up? Can you get me the bleach out of the bathroom cabinet?" He already got it. It's in the bucket, it's on the sponge. That's not the point. The point is, he wants Matt to fuck off. 

Everyone is nice to him in the next few days. Everyone is considerate of his feelings. Gabriel doesn't have any feelings, besides _it had to be done_. He can see why they think it's a big deal. Yes, he killed a man. But... it doesn't bother him like it bothers them. 

 Life starts to reassert itself. The sun rises and sets, everything normal. He fixes the plaster and touches up the paint. Everything is like it was. Life goes on. He doesn't get any calls for interviews. Seventeen, and he's out of school, and he's got no job. He's got to find his way forward.

 He has an application saved for a scholarship. He pulls it open. A newsfeed has a scrolling headline, something about the UN trying to discourage the use of an all-Omnic military. He pauses. The application can wait.

 The one thing he's learned in the past few days is that he can do what it takes, to a degree that most people, average people, can't seem to handle. He's been told he's not quite right before, and he's brushed it off. He loved Dad, he loves Mama, he loves his cousins and Uncle Matt. But he had to do something ugly. Something that had to be done. And where it shook his whole family, it's left him untouched.

Maybe that is a sign of something wrong with him. 

 He closes the application, and opens up a search instead for the nearest recruiter's station. 

Maybe he's right for a different kind of job. 


	27. Serpentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No ship, no sense, no plot, no pants.
> 
> Okay, minimal plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I guess Gabe gets pants.

"I just think you should look into it," says Jack. 

Gabriel already knows he's fucked. When Jack Morrison speaks, he gets what he wants. Gabriel looks up into sea-blue eyes. Jack is at his most melting, which is why Gabriel forgets himself and reaches up to his chin. Jack cocks a brow, flicking a forked blue tongue over his wrist. Gabriel shoves him off with a scowl. 

"I'm telling you," says Gabriel's best friend and secret weapon. There weren't many nagas that associated with humans, and most of them were fickle, in it for celebrity. Jack had met him while he was training, working towards being a SEAL. 

That hadn't worked out. The Crisis, for one thing. Their friendship had remained. Gabriel's not sure how he got so lucky that they both survived, but their bond through the Crisis has been untouched.   
  
"It's just a ruin," Gabriel says. "They've been over it time and again. Talon's shipments got sold, and they tried to recover something. We know they failed. They gave up, what, twenty years ago?" 

"Gabriel."   
  
Jack's eyes are blue as the sea. His fins are just as mysterious, spreading on long, strong spines. His tail coils neatly once around the walls of the room. And when he says Gabriel's name like that, he gets what he wants. 

"Fine." Gabriel throws down the datapad. "I'll go check it out." 

**

Jack is nervous about this one. Jack wants to come along. Reyes thinks he's being ridiculous. But Jack gets what Jack wants. The saltwater tank (Jack's still mad he didn't get an actual, on-treads, water-filled, gun-bearing tank) loads up well on one of the big choppers, and Reyes hauls Jack's scaly ass all the way to the fucking badlands. They unload and drive to the raid site. Jack clears his throat. He runs up and down the musical scale while everyone puts in their earplugs. (Gabriel notices they all start moving a lot slower, reluctant to tune him out. Damn fools.) 

Gabriel puts soldiers on the heat monitoring system. All they need is one deaf Deadlock member, and all hell's going to break loose. Jack tugs on the bulletproof armor, helmet, and visor. He slides outside. Gabriel can see his discomfort as his scales hit the hot sand. Jack lifts his body up, rising tall above his coils. 

But then he starts singing. The sound bounces up the canyon walls, reverberating like holy bells. Gabriel can still feel it in his chest. It hums through his bones. He finds himself sitting, tucked up against Jack's side, while the naga gently keeps moving his tail to keep the other soldiers from getting in beside him. Gabriel manages, by force of will, to keep from throwing his arms around Jack and pressing his head against the naga's back. 

But some flicker of discipline makes him look up. Because they're coming out. He flicks a fire candy into his mouth, the burn making his eyes water. His head clears, and he steps through Jack's coils until he's walking on the sand again, assessing the group. They're disarmed already, helpless as long as Jack is singing. His soldiers work efficiently, binding each one and knocking them out. For some reason, most of them carry whiteboards and markers, or the top-model, most expensive datapads with a hologram display. 

"Something big is coming out," the soldier on the heat monitor says. Gabriel backs up, going to join her. It saves him a lot of embarrassment. 

He already has a suspicion what it is when the first soldier freezes and... grays. He turns his head despite himself. Jack's heavy-clawed hand flashes across, held in front of his eyes. Gabriel turns, going back to the trucks. He snaps off a sideview mirror and returns to Jack with his head averted. He turns his back to the entrance, lifting the mirror. 

Genji Shimada is a big, healthy land naga. This one's not as elegantly proportioned. Its human torso is skinny, right until the eye hits the snake part. Its scales are rough and hang like shields, nothing like Jack's sleek tail. Its lower two-thirds is broad and blocky, and the scales are dust-colored with a darker pattern. Its head is earless, which means that its hat would hang stupidly low...

...if it weren't supported by snakes. They twist and stir, staring in all directions. It has scaly brows. Its face looks mostly human, besides that... and the pits tucked under its broad cheekbones. 

Reyes has never seen a gorgon before. 

"I'd better get my soldiers back," he says. 

"Legends say that the stone spell wears off," Jack says. The gorgon is crawling forward, eyes on them. Its eyes are brown-yellow with huge slits. Its hands have sharp, squat talons at the tips. Gabriel wonders where the venom is: in its mouth? In its hands? In its hair? It's got the back half of a bigass rattler. As he thinks that, it stops, lifting up the end of its tail, and rattles. The sound is more threatening than comical. It has a bandana around its neck. It is wearing a cowboy hat. It looks like that's another whiteboard on its back, held there by a belt across its naked and tanned chest. The effect is calculated to draw the eye. Which is why the improbable getup is so dangerous. 

"Want it captured?" Jack asks. There's a long fin down his human back, between his shoulderblades. It's lifted up into a fan of interest. 

"Sure," Gabriel says. It's not like he has any better ideas, and Jack is immune to every poison and toxin they've tested. 

He's seen Jack attack before, but he still doesn't get more than a blur, a flash of blue and indigo. And then there's a snakefight happening. It's impressive. Their bodies twist and tumble, smashing wooden walls, flipping cars, and bringing down a stack of tires that bounce in all directions. But at the end of it, Jack's got his body wrapped around the gorgon's heavy scales and his finned arms in a chokehold around the gorgon's neck. He has his face tucked down, tolerating the bites from the gorgon's hair. 

"Do those have fangs?"  
  
"Nah," Jack says. "Get him blindfolded, will you? I hate to knock out some dumb, underfed nestling." 

Gabriel takes the bandana off a prisoner and gets it in place as a blindfold, wrapping it threateningly around sliding serpents so the gorgon can't just slide it off.  They fight and bite. They don't have fangs, but they still hurt, and Gabriel has to draw away bleeding hands. Jack rumbles something and squeezes hard. There's a last rattle, and the gorgon goes limp. 

"Hatchlings these days," Jack says. "Well, I guess I get to haul him on board." 

Gabriel surveys the body. He wants to say that Jack's done enough. But if the gorgon wakes up sooner than he thought, he doesn't want it crushing soldiers, or dosing them with rattlesnake venom. He signals for his soldiers to bring around a truck. "If you don't mind." 

**

The venom's in his mouth, Gabriel learns when he wakes up and tries to bite. It takes about three hours for the stone magic to wear off his paralyzed soldiers. The buzz of an angry rattlesnake fills the hold on the drive back. 

And then there's the fun of trying to communicate. He pretends not to be able to read. He sulks when Gabriel waves his whiteboard at him. He coils his hair as if it's going to strike. He rolls his eyes. Basically, he acts like an immature little criminal. 

Gabriel finally gets his attention by dumping a pile of shiny pictures in front of him. All the research centers that want him. The gorgon stops rattling. Its hair relaxes and starts looking around. And its face, with its two heat-reading pits, swings towards Gabriel. 

**

"You're serious," Jack says. 

"Yep." Gabriel keeps walking. Jesse keeps pace with him easily. He's blindfolded, but he can sense heat and vibrations with incredible accuracy, and his rattlesnakes have excellent vision for things that are medium range to close by. Gabriel's pretty sure he can read lips. 

"You're keeping him." 

"This is what Talon wanted from Ilios," Gabriel says. "A goddamn gorgon. They lost control of the egg a couple decades ago, and it took a few years to hatch. Talon wanted an agent that could infiltrate by turning people to stone. They wanted his magic. I figure, if he has a job he likes, they can't recruit him. Deadlock was feeding him rats and eggs. I can top that." 

"Hungry," Jesse signs. 

"You got it," Gabriel says. Jesse was just hungry half an hour ago, but Gabriel's seen how much tuna Jack can pack away. 

"Hunh?" Jack turns to them. 

"Learn to sign," Gabriel says with a nod. 

**

Jesse loves eggs. He loves egg with salsa. He loves small snakes. He loves ham. He's slow to appreciate pizza, but then, he's hooked. He rolls it up a slice at a time, or he cuts it into tiny squares. 

 It's obvious the Deadlocks didn't trust him. Gabriel can see why. He cheats at cards, he lies with a smile, he drinks more than a man's body weight before he gets drunk. Gabriel doesn't doubt his own choice, though. He teaches Jesse sign language. Other languages. He teaches him history and math, about diplomacy and art. His best and worst decision was teaching Jesse to shoot. It turns out that when Jesse flares his snakes up, he can triangulate an enemy with a kind of laser accuracy that Gabriel hasn't seen before. 

 "Hope you know what you're doing," Jack says.

 "I got this," says Gabriel. Talon wanted Jesse. Talon's got a plan. 

 **

 Jesse molts when he's twenty. 

 Gabriel's first hint is when he claps Jesse's shoulder outside the practice range. He's gotten Jesse used to armor, reaching for it as a matter of choice. But on base, he doesn't wear the shoulder pieces or arm protection. Gabriel has the odd feeling that the skin he touches is sliding over itself. He yanks his hand back immediately. 

 Then Jesse starts bumping into things. His hair is getting strange, too, kind of... dimmer in color. His eyes are getting cloudy. So are his snakes' eyes. Jack sheds his skin in a thousand tiny paperlike curls, and he stays underwater to do it. Gabriel's never seen this before. 

 Jesse gets less interested in moving around. He spends more time sleeping, stretched out in front of big windows. Gabriel consults a veterinarian. His first step is to just start leading Jesse around, which he does. Fortunately, he didn't have any work scheduled for his most mystical agent's snaky ass. 

 He's just minding his own business, assessing the latest on Zimbabwe's mysterious microquakes, when Jesse abruptly grabs his shoulders and starts rubbing his head on the back of Gabe's hoodie.  
  
"The fuck are you doing, gorgon?" He asks it aloud, in the hopes that Jesse can sense the rhythm of the question through his shoulderblades. 

 "Fabric," Jesse says. He's gotten a lot better at making sounds with his forked tongue. He's nowhere as good as Jack, but then, Jack can hear. There's a pair of snakes rubbing on Gabriel's beanie. 

 "Yeah?" Gabriel turns. Jesse's not wearing a blindfold. His unblinking eyes have clouded over to white. Gabriel's sure that Jesse found him through the gorgon's ability to track prey by body heat. It's not as unnerving a thought as it used to be. He feels kind of sorry for Jesse, because without the ability to see what people are signing, Jesse can hardly communicate at all. 

 Gabriel shoves him around until Jesse's coiled roughly like a chair, and then flops onto his scales. Jesse gives a little grunt and taps his rattle twice on the floor. It looks like he's more confused than annoyed, so Gabriel goes back to his reading. 

 Jesse shifts and rolls, sliding his coils around. Gabriel ends up cradled in a living recliner, with Jesse's head resting on his shoulder so he can pet the snakes. They shift and roll moodily, twining around his fingers with restless irritability, but it seems to help. 

 Jesse spends the next day in a hot tub. When his skin peels off, the hard scales over his eyes fall away, first. Gabriel damn near gets turned to stone before Jesse turns his face downward. Gabriel sits and talks to him while Jesse rubs his hair against itself until the skins split. He has to keep waiting for the skin to dry, resting, and then he rolls away another foot or so. Gabriel watches the very last bit of his skin join the rattle at the end of its tail. Then, Gabriel throws Jesse a birthday party. He's aware Jesse cheats when it's time to smash the pinata. By now, he would be worried if Jesse didn't. 

 **

 Jack and Jesse, together, absolutely trivialize all missions that haven't explicitly prepared for a naga and gorgon to attack together. Jack calls them out, Jesse turns them to stone, and Gabriel is reduced to cleanup duty.   
  
He doesn't really mind. Casualties for sensitive raids are reduced to an all-time low. 

 **

 "We're fightin'," Jesse grunts, when he comes across a tangle of naked limbs and writhing bodies filling the hallway. Jesse is on his back. His torn armor is scattered near the doorway, and Jack's shirt is in shreds. His fins are flared with excitement. 

 "We're fighting," Jack says a week later, when he opens the door to find the room mostly full of entwined blue and dun, Jack's face barely visible under Jesse's rattle.  

 "We're wrestlin'," Jesse says when he opens up the helicopter door to find them inexplicably tangled up one wall. 

 "Look," says Gabriel, when he finds the pool floor drenched and the two of them tangled together, splashing water high up on the walls, "I'm going to assume, from now on, that I'm walking in on wrestling. If you start having sex, warn me in advance." 

 "I'm winnin'," Jesse says. His blindfold has come loose, and he has his unblinking eyes pressed into Jack's shoulder. Jack beams, and drags him and his snakes under with a twist of his muscular body. Water splashes over Gabriel's boots. 

 **

 "Talon made other plans," Gabriel tells Jack. "That doesn't mean they've forgotten about him. It just means that after they lost track of their egg, they started plan B. And now that they see what kind of asset a gorgon is, they're backtracking. They're setting up for another raid on Ilios." 

Jack's eyes narrow, and he lifts himself up to look at the strategy table. Jack never says a word about Greece, but Gabriel knows he takes the ancient pact between Atlantis and Athens very seriously indeed. 

 **

 "I dunno how I feel about refrigerating the egg," Jesse signs ruefully. All the heads of his hair are lowered, tongues flickering madly over its shiny surface. 

  
"It's not a gorgon egg," Gabriel says. "It's impervious to scans. It's got a fucking metallic sheen on it. I'm not hatching it." 

 "Legends say the eggs of the kraken are round, and patterned like a peacock feather," Jack says. Gabriel double takes. To him, it just looks shiny and blue-green, but he knows Jack's eyes can see a thousand colors Gabriel's can't. 

"Right," Gabriel says. "We put it someplace Talon won't look. Somewhere cold." 

**

 The monastery is pretty much perfect. Genji, a land naga that Gabriel discovered and befriended, is up there, seeking peace. Gabriel runs a thousand decoy eggs to a thousand places on the globe. He takes Jesse and Jack up there to share the zen effort. 

 Jesse shivers, his snakes sluggish. Jack is obviously worried about him. A creature of the deep sea, Jack doesn't need warmth and sun as much as the gorgon. He wraps indigo-azure coils around Jesse's shorter, thicker body. Gabriel cuts off the ends of all his spare socks and sews little hair warmers for Jesse. 

 Jack and Genji bury the egg together under the floor mosaic, laying it down just like it was. Gabriel helps to scatter the dirt back, wetting it down and rubbing it in. 

That night, Jesse sleeps with what electric blankets they have, coiled around Gabriel. Gabriel tries to get comfortable. Jesse worms around, wrapping him on all sides. That part's fine. The part where his hair decides it's cold and wants to lie on Gabriel's back is the annoying part. Gabriel finally pulls off his hoodie and puts it over all of their heads.  

The three of them slip back from the monastery, careful not to draw Talon's attention to the mountains. Instead, they reappear on the coast, pretending they were all underwater.

 Gabriel has the satisfaction of watching Talon swimming around the coastline for a year afterward. 

**

 "You're still fighting, right?" Gabriel asks. It's a rare day when he can clear his schedule and just hang out. His favorite team is playing today, and he's been looking forward to the game for weeks.   
  
"We're just good friends," Jack says, looking at him upside down over the armrest. Jesse rattles triumphantly. 

 "Good. Get your serpentine asses off my couch before you break-" Gabriel facepalms as there's a loud splintering sound. The two long bodies separate, ending up on the floor, on either side of the wreckage. A small tuft of filling drifts through the air, the ghost of comforts past. 

 "Sor-ry," Jesse drawls uncomfortably. His snakes are rotating through the sign for "sorry." Gabriel's only seen that happen once. It's true: Jesse is very, very sorry. Two minutes too late, as far as Gabriel's couch is concerned. 

 "What you need is more durable furniture," Jack says, firmly sweeping the wreckage aside with his tail. 

 "You're my sofa for the game, Jack," Gabriel says. "And they don't make furniture rated for elephants." 

Jack coils around, sitting up against his own scales, with a few coils stacked for Gabe to sit on. It looks slightly awkward. Gabriel unfolds his arms, reaching for the remote. "It's too low." 

"Be right back," Jesse signs. Gabriel waits, tapping his foot, until he hears Jesse making popcorn. Then Jesse comes back, bearing a full, good-smelling bag. He glances at Jack, sliding in opposite him and meshing his coils with Jack's. The two of them, working together, come up with a pretty good couch substitute. Gabriel settles down between them and accepts popcorn. 

He picks up a kernel and tosses it towards its mouth. With his other hand, he grabs the snake head that was darting for it. Jesse's hair is greedy. 

Maybe in a few decades of peacetime, he'll think about befriending a pet kraken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first draft referenced "Rhodesia." (I got this name because I was talking about Rhodesian Ridgebacks recently. When I cast a line in my brain for an African country name, that's what came up.) Today I realized I didn't know where Rhodesia was, so I googled it and discovered why. 
> 
> Apologies to anyone who raised a brow, but was too polite to ask!


End file.
